Matt Davis digs into his music archives to find the source of inspiration to Palace's cup run.
Did Hip Hop legends, De La Soul, base their banger, ‘three is a magic number’ on the ‘magic of the cup’?
Probably not.
It was, after all, 35 years before Crystal Palace would be dreaming about their third attempt at the world’s oldest cup competition.
De La Soul are American too. At a time when folk over the pond were definitely not going over the top football wise. The benign Reynolds or beastly Boehly were a figment of no-one’s imagination.
So, unlikely the romance of the cup and the power of 3 would’ve been upmost in De La Soul’s minds.
But, hey, it’s all I’m bloody tapping my feet to now.
(I’m assuming it’s a cross generational track by the way. That De la soul 1989 first Hip Hop sample sent it ballistic. 20 odd artists across genres have joined in the fun to this very day.)
And superstition sucks. Those first two cup finals were shockers for us spellbound supporters - with magic being subbed off for utter misery both times.
Now, all I can think of is three is a magic number and, even more of a cliche, ‘third time lucky’. And I’m seeking signs everywhere.
Lineker started the taunting to a desperate-to-not-hear Steve Parish in the post-match interview. Telling him we were in ‘touching distance’. I gasped hearing that, with the need to touch wood ever since.
But of all the people to really trigger the superstition, it’s the man with the not entirely justified bad wrap, Alan Pardew. Still depleted of dopamine levels 24 hours after the final whistle, I turned to the chewing gum for your ears TalkSPORT. Where our once cult hero boldly proclaimed, ‘it could be third time lucky for my old side’ before not humbly bragging about his main man role as a player and manager in the first two. Classic on-brand Pardew. He has written his page in our history though.
And as I search high and low, the magic of 3 does exist in many Palace nooks and crannies.
Firstly, there’s the semi score. The score. THE SCORE.
And 3-0 at Fulham. And, well, we scored three v ‘them’. Three games to the final, three goals in each.
Then what about this season’s rousing end of victory celebration. Close your eyes and listen carefully, as the beautiful colossus carouses us with his shapes, conducting the crowd before the choreography from pitch to terrace and back again flows:
“Un. Deux. Troi. LA CROIX!!!”
It could be that, couldn’t it?
Of course, there’s the fact that my GOAT of defenders is a number 3 – Kenny Sansom. One for us old goats possibly, but he is the OG of full backs.
He was also the third Palace autograph I got, when my dad spotted him in a Streatham steakhouse long since banished to the 1980s meat parlours in the sky. Vince and Budgie were my first and second signatures, sequestered by my mum who worked at the similarly deceased Norwood Hospital. A cute little place where normal folk and footballers seemingly milled together and were treated simultaneously. Another world.
Talking of which, once the Noadesamoney (best nickname ever?) reign came to a conclusion, there were two throwers of the dice, after which it really was a case of third time lucky in the ownership stakes. No-one can deny that SP is quite the custodian.
My daughter was born 3 days before the 2013 play-off final, thus turning 3 a day or 3 after the 2016 Cup Final.
Tyrick Mitchell is perhaps the best number 3 in the Premier League era. To use the lazy language of the time, he’s in the conversation.
I’m clutching at Richard-Shaws – a great number 3 from 1990, that surely counts – but I’m in my (ahem, sounds like nifty) third year on this planet.
The ZDS had three initials. That best position we ever finished in the top tier in ‘91 was, yup you guessed it. We were champions in 1993.
As with all superstitions, subjectivity and bias can niggle. Individual interpretation is everything:
There was not a number 3 in the season of that tear-stained 2016 final. Good sign or bad sign, like a Uri Geller spoon, you can bend that one either way.
The season 89/90 culminated in that first Wright-brace-Hughes-hell of a final. But it was three all. 3-3. We didn’t lose that game. However, it was the most heartbreaking 3rd goal I’ve ever witnessed.
And for every great number 3 we’ve had, there’s been Craig Harrison, Rob Holding and Lee Sinnott among others.
Whatever happens as we take to Wembley for our third final, skin black and blue from pinching ourselves, superstitions, like the atmosphere, at 11, everything would change and nothing.
The everything of our first ever bit of silverware, the nothing being, we’ll be there always, singing dreaming, living this amazing club.
Whether it’s third time lucky, or not:
We love you, we love you, we love you.