Dan Cooper finds himself with a realisation -- that Palace don't just make up the numbers...
‘Remember – it’ll be sad if Palace lose, but there are more important things in the world than football.’ It’s 4pm on a mild Spring afternoon, and halfway down Wembley Way I find myself in the curious position of being pre-emptively counselled by my only-just-turned seven year old. It’s a big day for him - it may only be his second game, but thanks to an impeccably timed entrance into Palace fandom, here he is; immediately fast-tracked onto the sort of big stage that most will be lucky to experience a handful of times across a lifetime.
I look down at him, the newly acquired and slightly-too-big scarf dangling off his shoulders, and notice his gaze lingering. He wants to make sure that his message has landed. And then it hits me; that’s me – my voice, my nervousness, my lack of faith. He’s just playing it back to me. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, as it’s all I’ve been saying to him since our semi-final place was confirmed. ‘Don’t worry if we lose. Don’t worry if we lose. Don’t worry if we lose.’ Because, if I’m being honest, that’s exactly what I think is going to happen. I think we’re going to lose.
To the outsider, it’s a level of doubt that might appear unwarranted – Palace’s good form this season, particularly against Villa, being the obvious counter argument. But this goes way deeper than one game, or even one season. It’s deep rooted. Palace don’t win things – not the truly big, important things – and that’s just how it is. 120 years of history backs that up with brutal clarity. Obviously I hope that we can do it. But there’s a big difference between hope and belief, and it’s fair to say that almost all of my Palace supporting life has been defined by the former.
The absence of belief is as much about what Palace is, as what it does. I love that we once released a replica shirt with an incorrect spelling of the club’s actual name (‘Chrystal Palace’, for those who missed it). I revel in the fact that Palace once nearly torpedoed a 2.5 million pound deadline day signing because they accidentally faxed crucial documents to a chippie. I take great pleasure in telling anyone who’ll listen that the centre piece of our sparsely populated trophy cabinet is the Zenith Data Systems Cup. No-one does cult status quite like Palace, after all. And yet it’s these very same idiosyncrasies - loveable though they are - that for so long have calcified the sense that Palace are winging it. It’s the story of a club capable of wonderful, life affirming moments, but one which is held together with Sellotape; achieving pockets of success here and there, but almost always in spite of itself, not because of it.
But on Saturday, something in me changed. As the clock ticked towards the hour mark, Ismaila Sarr lit the blue touch paper with a goal that might just rank as my favourite ever. Not just because it was an unbelievably satisfying strike – slapped in from distance, delivering that unrivalled thrill of knowing it’s in a split second before it hits the net. Not even because of the biblical scenes that played out in the stands in its aftermath – bodies flying everywhere, strangers hugging strangers, tears openly shed. It was more than that; the precise moment that a thirty year habit changed. It’s the point at which I stopped hoping, and started believing.
In truth, it’s a moment that’s been building for a while. Palace’s twelve year stint in the Premier League is unprecedented, but outside observers and fans alike have found fault in the resultant midtable stasis. As a fan of the geriatric millennial vintage, I’ve never been able to get on board with this – less because of the well-worn ‘you should’ve seen what it was like in the bad old days’ argument, and more because – boring though it sounds - I’ve loved watching Palace finally take the opportunity to morph into a savvy, strategically-minded club.
The forging of the ‘South London & Proud’ identity has been a masterstroke. For many years, Palace just didn’t know itself very well – its identity constantly shapeshifting at the mercy of the managers, players and leaders who served as custodians of the badge. Flashy entertainers or gritty underdogs? Retirement home for has-beens or hotbed of young talent? De Boer or Warnock? South London or Surrey?
But as the Palace faithful greeted the players with the profoundly beautiful, fan-funded ‘boy with the shirt’ tifo on Saturday, it was clear that the identity crisis of yesteryear is now firmly a thing of the past. Crystal Palace knows exactly what it is, where its from and who it represents. Visceral pride, deeply anchored in community. That strangely un-nameable feeling that only comes in the early evening, clearly discernible through the haze of post-match indulgence, as the fading light lands just right on the stubbornly handsome terraces of South Norwood. Sound familiar? Then you’re in.
And then of course there’s Oli. Super Oli Glasner, to be precise. With barely a calendar year under his belt, his impact on our club has been profound. And at the heart of it all – beyond the tactical acumen and impeccable man management – lies a simple yet utterly transformational mantra: we can and will win big games, because we’re a great team. That’s it. And just like that, the incalculable weight of history – the dearth of silverware, the tempered expectations, the surrendering to the all-powerful hierarchy of modern football – just disappears into thin air.
All of which brings me back to that wonderful moment on Saturday, when I finally had to accept that we were doing just that: winning a big game, because we’re a great team. A Champions League opponent put to the sword with ruthless efficiency. No backs to the wall, no heroic rearguard action – just a perfectly formed plan, executed by a collection of top quality, international players. The stuff of dreams, and yet oddly difficult for me to accept. Perhaps it’s because all of it – the missed opportunities, the empty trophy cabinet, the misspelt club badge – represents a strange sort of comfort blanket. Reassuringly familiar yes, but chronically self-limiting. We must let that go.
Luckily for us, Oliver Glasner doesn’t much care for comfort zones. His approach isn’t just ambitious – it’s brave. It seeks to smash glass ceilings, not just apologetically slip through the back door. When May 17th rolls around, we need to show that same bravery; setting aside the burden of the past, and accepting that winning is a possibility not just because we want it, but because we’re more than good enough to make it happen. Belief doesn’t guarantee you success, and the Guardiola juggernaut may yet humble us all. But win or lose, this moment marks a clear inflection point for our great club – so let’s have at it.
UTP!