The story of how one Crystal Palace supporter fell in love with the Eagles through technology, good time, and innocent curiosity.

You’re going to spite me for saying this, but I don’t know an FA Cup without Crystal Palace.

Listen, I get it. There’s nothing worse than people following the loudest beat of the drum that Palace have been pounding during its run through the FA Cup. Bandwagon riders, fans sucking on to the success of a club that has rose to the top of the table, or in this instance, knocking off top flight teams on their way to a major final.

I preface this is because I started following Palace back in December. American’s shifted in waves to football over the past decade and this winter I started diving in. With the combination of advanced technology, fast and harder play on the pitch and viral marketing, the shift in sporting interest has swayed to the World’s Game. Sport fans, like me, have grown tired of the corruption in American football, the choppy play in basketball and the sluggish play in baseball. Football, or soccer, has this exotic feel with fast and fun elements to which we want to explore.

It was one late morning inside Brit’s Pub in Minneapolis, Minnesota that I finally decided to follow through and dive into a sport, dominated across the pond, and cling to a football club with all I had. The process was more brain twisting and heart wrenching than you’d assume because not only was this a club I’d invest my Saturday and Sunday mornings to, it was a decision I’d be married to in my conscious for the rest English Premier League watching life. I had one shot at this.

Understand my psyche here. I mentioned the pub in Minnesota. That’s where I’m from. Our state hasn’t won a championship in the four-major American sports (baseball, football, basketball and hockey) since 1991 when our baseball club, the Twins, won the World Series. Everyone in the state has been through the ringer as a fan. Loyalty is tested on yearly basis with every franchise in my hometown. There’s a flicker of hope in the beginning that’s ultimately crushed with the overwhelming depression of defeat by season’s end. Year after year. Think Newcastle supporters, with a Bournemouth payroll.

It was time for something different, so, my first thought while deciding which club I’d support? No favorites. I’m not looking for glory. I’m searching for passion. Signing up for an army, whether it be red or blue sounded too easy and would lead me to ultimately lose interest. Follow the billionaire oil tycoon money? Eh, I feel likes there’s weird sports karma coming for that club which is an obvious red flag. So, like a good American sports fan, I consulted with Bill Simmons. He’s written endless sports columns for ESPN over the past decade and underwent the similar process I was about to put myself through back in 2005. 

I broke down the decision into seven wildly superficial categories. I ranked each category with colors. Blue is a great sign, green translate to good, white means neutral, etcetera…

There are a few categories I should explain, like the sponsor category that I completely ignored so don’t read into that. Also, there aren’t very many American-born footballers in the Premier League, so it was an automatic blue if there was one floating around the club’s team sheet. The city category was tricky. I’ve never been to England so I have no idea if Liverpool is better than Manchester. The only way to explain it is by saying there’s a predetermined conception of cities around the world and London’s is positive.

Simmons makes an appearance at the end. What jumped off the page to me five months after I made this spreadsheet is that nine clubs in the Premier League this season that weren’t there during the 2005-06 season. And of course, this is made possible by the SINGLE greatest rule in sports. I could go on about relegation, but to save time, here’s the *incomplete* spreadsheet in all its glory...

(Click to enlarge)

As you can see, Palace jumped out to me. The Eagles mascot is my home country’s preferred bird so we’re off to good start here. The red, white and blue color scheme happens to be me and my country's favorite colors. Then I found out an eagle – later discovered his name is Kayla – flies around the pitch before matches at Selhurst Park. Palace was forcing some serious attention. The pageantry, aesthetics and history were enough for me to take a chance on the Pride of South London.

The first match I went back to and streamed for reconnaissance, to make sure Palace was the club for me, was the November 28th 5-1 victory over Newcastle. Yannick Bolasie’s powerful speed, Wilfred Zaha poetic footwork and mesmerizing dribbles, and James McArthur’s elegant grit left no questioning of where my loyalty would be placed. This team had talent to go along with the glitz and glamour, and I suddenly knew where my football support belonged.

What made it an easy transition for an American was the unrelenting support from the red ‘n blue army. The lowest point for Palace fans this year was unquestionably the 14-match hiccup streak, which the US should take credit for because the slide down the table began when NBC brought its “Behind the Badge” series to Selhurst. Please accept my apology on the US’s behalf. Anyway, the winless streak should be enough for supporters to call for the manager’s head. But, like Zaha dangling his way past the defense, the Palace support never failed match after match. Hope lived on through the dark time, and by damn was it was inspiring.

In light of the losing, there were these matches played every month or so, intertwined between PL fixtures, that provided hope. FA Cup matches are nearly impossible to watch in the states. FOX’s broadcasting rights left the matches on unknown television channels, forcing me to turn to Twitter for commentary and play-by-play. The FA Cup literally lived on the Internet for American supporters.

Not only did Twitter fill the much-needed Palace-sized whole in my heart, it provided an insight into the minds of common Palace fans, which, like anything on Twitter, was an interesting place to be.

“Just thinking… When we signed Yala, we looked doomed… Since he signed, we've been on a constant upward curve. He's been huge for us.” “Roy Hodgson says #England lacked creativity last night. Could've done with someone unpredictable & lively off the bench imo...Zaha anyone?”

These are just an example of what I was working with across the pond on Twitter. Say what you will about the social media platform, the live stream of 140-character updates had me screaming on the couch, waking up my roommates because I read Zaha just fired a cracker past Stoke’s keeper.

Make no mistake, I’m not here without the technology. Although, the Crystal Palace marketing department deserves a pat on the back for the way they’ve grown the Palace brand. The club’s presence online is notable with easy access to press conferences and behind the scenes footage on the practice pitch has made a fan, thousands of miles away, feel like he’s getting ready for a game at Selhurst or Wembley.

I was conceived about a year after the last time Palace was in the FA Cup Final. And, honestly, the boys playing for glory on Saturday is a fitting way to begin this relationship. It seems silly on the surface for an event of this magnitude to have a profound effect on a supporter who jumped into this in December, but the feeling is there, it’s present with me right now. I would do anything to march into Wembley with you and the red ‘n blue army this weekend.

I’ve fallen into the Crystal Palace world. For me, as an outsider, you can loath it or love it, but the timing couldn’t be better for an American looking for a sport driven by the thousands of supporters chanting, screaming and singing in the crowd. I’m simply, “Glad all over, all over again.” 

Supporting Crystal Palace can be a deeply personal experience, and for Tony Dobson, the return to Wembley is one of redemption.

A lot can change in 26 years. As a club we've seen that ourselves. In those 26 years we've changed badges twice, ownership three times and managers more frequently than we would like to count. Life changes as well, and I'm going back to Wembley in altogether different circumstances than I did in 1990.

I became a Palace fan because I started going to games with my Dad. He went with his Dad before him, although my Grandfather died when I was too young to have had any memories of him. My parents divorced when I was a baby, and since that point my Dad and I had an awkward relationship. We had little in common, and he was someone who intimidated and frankly frightened me. My opinions were always wrong and nothing I ever did seemed to be good enough for him. Somewhat because of him it took me far longer than it should have for me to be comfortable being just myself.

When I started going to Palace games in my early teens I quickly came to love the matchday experience, the atmosphere, the excitement and the anticipation of each. We went with a group that varied in size from fixture to fixture, but overall there were a good group of guys, including a friend just a few years older than me who I liked, respected and genuinely loved being around. Additionally he was an effective bridge between myself and my Dad, about the only person who really brought us together before I started going to watch Palace.

It also helped that I got in at a good time. Freshly promoted to the old First Division and embarking on that F.A. Cup run, a place in the game I watched avidly every year along with every schoolboy beckoned. My Dad then did the best thing he ever did for me, going onto the black market and getting us into that Cup Final. Sure, we were in the United end, but that was before the ugliness that came years later and I would say that we were actually treated well by those around us.

As I got older I became more independent, and leaving home for university meant I wasn’t dependent upon Dad to get to games. I moved to Scotland in 1997, shortly after our play-off win against Sheffield United. I didn't have a goodbye trip to see my Dad. I had hoped in some subconscious way that our goodbye that day, still gleeful about David Hopkin's dramatic winner, would be an apt happy memory to remain with us. Circumstances and family events conspired so that wouldn't be the case. He had hurt too many people close to me, and it just reached a point where I couldn’t take the high road any longer. I don't have the first clue if he will be at Wembley for our second final appearance. If he is, I hope our paths do not cross.

The funny thing is though that fatherhood is a lot more than just buying Cup Final tickets and taking someone to Wembley. I was naturally closer to my Mum, and my Mum thought I was naturally closer to my stepdad. While he wasn't a football fan he remains to this day the best man I know, the person who invested time and love into my life, the person who built me up and didn't tear me down, the person who put other people's needs - especially mine - ahead of his own.

I began to discover this for myself just before Christmas in 2005 when my first daughter, Chloe, was born. Having spent months fearful of what kind of father I would be I found myself rapt by this beautiful girl who just seemed to love me. I didn't know exactly why my Dad and I weren't close, but I knew that if I had a similar detachment from my children it wouldn't be for lack of effort on my part.

I also came to experience something else in fatherhood and aging, namely awareness of my own many flaws. Sometimes it has been through things Chloe has struggled with, and at other points it has come to me in a moment of rare self-awareness. While I couldn't let my Dad back into my life it provided food for thought on many occasions and empathy that would perhaps be better served elsewhere.

As Chloe grew older my wife returned to work, and I threw myself into all the things Dads do in this era. I especially loved the toddler years when I would pick her up from childcare, come home and watch sports on TV with her. Usually she would be exhausted from a day of playing and fall asleep while cuddling me, and for me that was perfect.

Throughout her early years Chloe had a succession of Palace bibs, vests, sleepsuits and the like. My in-laws are wonderful people, but I suspected they were merely humouring my interests. When I signed Chloe up for junior membership I don't think they were thrilled, as football isn't a traditional interest for girls, at least from their perspective. Chloe loved the pack the club sent her, and I kidded on that she would be the one pushing my wheelchair into Selhurst Park in my later years, something she always said she would be happy to do.

Soon enough it would be her turn to visit Selhurst Park, but when you live 400 miles away it isn't a simple arrangement. Furthermore attempts to plan her first trip happened amid an awful time for the family. Weeks before the game my wife broke her wrist. Days before the game my wife's ill-fortune struck again as a vomiting bug ended up putting her in hospital again. We had to postpone our trip. I was devastated, and I wasn't alone in feeling like that. Chloe was too.

I wouldn't claim that Palace are the be-all and end-all in life, but there does appear to be a peculiar thing which takes place whereby when life is miserable Palace go and do something brilliant. In this case Palace got promoted, and although none of the family were at Wembley that day in 2013 it was a momentary respite. Chloe finally got to her first game, took in her first away trips, and even got properly frozen at Wigan, a day she somehow still said she enjoyed. An actual win for her was much longer in coming, making me thankful for patience that clearly doesn’t come from me. Why would a girl living in the west of Scotland love Palace? I can't properly explain it, and I'm not sure I want to make sense of it, I'm just glad she does. It happens to be something which is special to both of us that brings us closer still.

It isn't just her allegiances that make me proud of Chloe though. She's got a lovely sense of humour, works hard at school and has one of the kindest hearts I could ever imagine. Furthermore she really doesn’t ask for much. How can you not want to do everything for a child like that? She's already had her dream of being a Palace mascot, and now I've got mine of being able to go to an F.A. Cup Final with her. For all the many friends (including my best friend of 22 years) who I've gone to Palace games with there is nobody I would sooner attend a game with now.

Reaching the final means that this is no longer a once in a lifetime experience, but until we see otherwise we certainly have to treat it as once in a generation. Whatever happens at Wembley it will be a special day for us, and hopefully someday we'll be back for a major final when her little sister is old enough to join us and make it a full family occasion along with their Mum.

This F.A. Cup Final is going to be a special day for anyone who is part of the red and blue army, and for those of us who were there in 1990 it will be a day where you can't help but think of those you went with then. Whether they be friends, family or just familiar faces, there is reason to be remember them and what has happened in the intervening years. For me though there is redemption to be had, and it has nothing to do with the final score.

Comparisons may be pointless, the game today has changed and we don't even play the same systems as we did in 1990 - but that doesn't stop people from making them. And no big game would be complete without a comparison to the previous team that made this achievement.

GOALKEEPERS

This is the easiest one. Nigel Martyn was one of the finest keepers of his generation and would have had many more caps had he played for a more fashionable club. Some of his saves looked almost impossible. Wayne Hennessey is a Welsh international. But so was Lewis Price.

WINNER: NIGEL MARTYN

RIGHT BACK

It was John Pemberton's outrageous run into Liverpool's half that got us back into the game in that legendary semi final against Liverpool at Villa Park and Pembo was a competent and reliable attacking full back, though few Palace fans will disagree that the man we replaced him with in the summer, John Humphrey, was an upgrade. Pembo went on to have a decent career with Sheffield United and even experienced European football with Leeds, where he often played at centre back. Joel Ward has improved season upon season since signing from Pompey, however, in this current campaign he seems to have been off the boil a bit, despite popping up with the odd precious goal. It's a very close one but I'd give Wardy the nod here, even though I'm convinced he's a better defensive midfielder than right back.

WINNER: JOEL WARD

LEFT BACK

It always pleases me when one of our own makes it, and Richard Shaw is a player I've admired since he and John Salako used to sign autographs for our group of urchins at the front of the Sainsburys Terrace back in their youth team days. After a slow start and a loan at Hull, Shaw really matured as a player at the end of the 89/90 campaign, putting in some sterling performances at left back even though he was a right footed centre back. He was also a mainstay of the side that finished 3rd the following season and a recipient of our player of the year award. Pape Souare has shown flashes of brilliance going forward but for me he still has a lot of work to do on the defensive side of his game to be considered as good as Richard Shaw.

WINNER: RICHARD SHAW

CENTRE HALF

Gary O'Reilly arrived at Selhurst Park late in the 86/87 season from the Seaweed to little fanfare, and spent most of the following two seasons on the sidelines with various injuries. A solid, no frills centre half who up until the semi final had only found the net twice for us (if you exclude the spectacular own goal he scored for Spurs whilst playing for us in a 4-0 FA Cup drubbing at White Hart Lane shortly after he signed), then he goes and scores in the semi final AND the final. For that alone he should fill one of the centre back spots BUT this is about ability and Scott Dann is fast becoming the finest centre half this club has ever seen. 

WINNER: SCOTT DANN

CENTRE HALF

After Liverpool put 9 past us at Anfield, one of Steve Coppell's first actions was to strengthen the defence. Out went the popular and competent Perry Suckling, whose one handed save against Blackburn played a huge part in getting us to the top flight in the first place, and in came Nigel Martyn. Jeff Hopkins had also made it clear that he wasn't up to the demands of first division football and Coppell told us that he wanted an "old head" in the centre of defence. Us fans took this to mean that an experienced, battle hardened centre half would be on his way to Selhurst and the newspapers were linking us with the likes of Mark Wright and Glenn Roeder. So more than a few eyebrows were raised when the 23 year old Andy Thorn arrived. One of Wimbledon's team of giantkillers who'd beaten the all conquering Liverpool to win the FA Cup two years previously, Thorn had left Wimbledon for Newcastle but never managed to settle on Tyneside and the Geordies needed little persuasion to take the £650,000 that Coppell had offered them. And what a bargain. Almost immediately Thorn settled an erratic defence and provided composed leadership to a previously dysfunctional backline, also weighing in with his fair share of goals and deputising as captain on occasion. Damien Delaney's football career was at a crossroads when Dougie Freedman snapped him up on a free from Ipswich back in 2012. After a couple of indifferent seasons playing for incompetent tossers such as Roy Keane and Paul Jewell, he'd even considered quitting the game for good before Dougie persuaded him to give it one last go. And what a go he's made of it. Every season since promotion the fans have whispered that this might be the end for Damo, and every season he's proved them wrong. Many folk will come to the conclusion that this FA Cup final may well be Damo's swansong, but don't be surprised if he proves you wrong again. A solid centre half and a proper leader, nobody deserves this more than Damo does. And it saddens me immensely to leave him out because nobody loves Damo more than I do, and this was the hardest decision I've had to make writing this piece.

WINNER: ANDY THORN

RIGHT WING/RIGHT MIDFIELD

This is where it gets difficult because the system we played in 1990 and the system we play now are totally different so the positions aren't exactly identical. Andy Gray preferred to play in the centre whilst Steve Coppell always preferred him on the right coming in, and this is where he appeared to be playing in the final. Had he played in the centre of midfield he'd probably have made the cut as that's where most of us saw him excel. However, he didn't. And for that reason he loses out to Wilfried Zaha. Wilf is one of our own and our player of the year, I simply can't leave him out. Not even for one of the best midfielders our club has ever had. Sorry Andy.

WINNER: WILFRIED ZAHA

CENTRAL MIDFIELD

And this brings us to the man who got us there both times. Alan Pardew, a £7500 signing from Yeovil in 1987, was only ever supposed to be a bit-part player for Palace but injuries, suspensions and the need for a ball winner made him pretty much a regular in the 89/90 campaign. Nobody needs reminding of that goal he scored in the semi final. But, as I keep repeating, this piece is purely on ability and few players who've worn the red and blue have as much of that as the maestro that is Yohan Cabaye. In terms of playing ability there is simply no comparison.

WINNER: YOHAN CABAYE

CENTRAL MIDFIELD - THE BATTLE OF THE CAPTAINS!

Geoff Thomas remains our most successful ever captain, and one of the finest midfielders this club has seen. A proper old fashioned ball winner with no little skill, it was no surprise when he finally made the England squad. Mile Jedinak is on the cusp of becoming our most capped international player and I've never seen a midfielder who consistently wins so much in the air. This one is close, very close, and my decision boils down to the fact that Geoff Thomas captained the side to 3rd place the following season. If Mile does the same next year I'll happily reevaluate this decision.

WINNER: GEOFF THOMAS

LEFT WING

Again, the system we played in 1990 seemed to have John Salako and Phil Barber alternating between the left wing and the second striker role. Since John Salako played most of his career wide on the left I've put him there for the purposes of making this article possible. And it's easy to forget that, in 1991, John Salako had the footballing world at his feet. The beginning of a successful England career was all but snuffed out by an unfortunate (and entirely blameless) challenge with Leeds's Mel Sterland that put him out of the game for the best part of two years. Another product of the fine youth system that Alan Smith and Peter Prentice put together in the mid 1980s, it's great that he's involved with the club again. Yannick Bolasie is the epitome of a Palace player. A previous career that saw him in places as diverse as Rushden, Malta and Plymouth before stagnating on the bench for Bristol City, Yannick is another example of just what a talent Dougie Freedman has in spotting a player. Again, this is a very tough decision indeed because Yannick is probably my favourite current Palace player, but, as  I said, John Salako was on the verge of true greatness before that injury.

WINNER: JOHN SALAKO

SECOND STRIKER/ATTACKING MIDFIELD/NUMBER 10

Once again the systems dictate that I'm not comparing like for like. And, although he was a competent player who never gave less than 100%, there really is no comparison between Phil Barber and Jason Puncheon. A local lad, a Palace legend and one we will look back on as being probably the most important player in our current squad.

WINNER: JASON PUNCHEON

CENTRE FORWARD

Mark Bright is rarely mentioned without Ian Wright being mentioned in the same breath. Theirs was an almost telepathic understanding and the raw talent of the mecurial Wright was never really harnessed until Bright appeared on the scene in 1987. And the records show that Mark Bright was simply one of the finest strikers we've ever had. Connor Wickham would do well to emulate him on the pitch and I truly hope he does as the lad has the potential to be anything he wants to be.

WINNER: MARK BRIGHT

I'm only going to name one sub, and obviously that's going to be the man who came off the bench to score twice against Manchester United. Palace fans of a certain age often look back and wonder if things had been different had Steve Coppell opted to start with Ian Wright in the replay. I'm not sure they would have been. It was that disgusting kit that did for us. And on Saturday any one of those I've omitted, James McArthur, Emmanuel Adebayor, Bakary Sako - they're all capable of emulating what Wrighty did for us on May 12th 1990. Let's hold on and win it this time though, eh lads?

The Final line-up:

Yannick Bolasie embodies that Palace spirit. The winger returns to Wembley for a third time - and Max Mathews suggests it's destiny for him to shine.  

Whether it be Don Rogers, Peter Taylor, John Salako, Attilio Lombardo, or local boy Wayne Routledge, wide play and wingers have been part of the Palace ethos since even before my time. 2016 was the first time a winger has won Palace’s Player of the Season award since Eddie McGoldrick in 1992. In the year of the winger, I think it’ll be our wingers who decide the game on Saturday, but one in particular, and I don’t think it’ll be Wilf.

Rushden & Diamonds, Hillingdon, Floriana. Not upmarket tween clothing brands, but Yannick Bolasie’s first three footballing employers; they serve to illustrate that his path to the top of the footballing game was not the most typical. Like Jamie Vardy, Bolasie started in non-league football before working his way up the divisions, but his rise is better mirrored by Vardy’s Leicester teammate Riyad Mahrez. While Mahrez (also born in France) trained on the streets of Parisian suburbs, Bolasie navigated the labyrinthine playgrounds of London, giving him the agility and balance of a gymnast with the ball skills of a juggling Kardashian sister. Like Mahrez, it’s clear that being outside the traditional academy system has helped Bolasie’s game, and made him much more spontaneous and instinctive on the ball. Commentators’ go-to line now is “even he doesn’t know what he’s going to do next”. Maybe not, but that’s what makes him so difficult to stop, and makes it so much more frustrating when he runs down a blind alley, tries one trick too many or can’t deliver a quality final ball. Holloway clearly doubted him to the extent he was an unused substitute in the 2013 final.

But after two years playing regularly in the Premier League (PL), he’s matured into a much more rounded player who works hard tracking back, can use his strength as well as his pace and skill, and – unlike Wilf – often knows when to pass as well as when to take on defenders in his unique style. He has a better temperament than Wilf, who still complains to the referee and lashes out occasionally, and has a more consistent final ball too. Compared to our Player of the Season (who deserved his award), he has more than double the goals and triple the assists this season in the league. We saw how much we missed him when he was out injured!

Whereas Wilf, Dann and McArthur offer consistent brilliance for us, it’s Bolasie’s more mercurial nature which excites me ahead of the final. We know exactly what to expect from those three, but Bolasie has the genuine cutting edge and X-factor. He gives us unpredictable, big-game moments: the ‘Bolasie flick’, barging over Bruno, swiping the ground in front of Bardsley, press-ups on the pitch, the Sunderland hat-trick, the 60 yard run to set up Gayle at Crystanbul, the selfie at White Hart Lane. Those are the moments which make football worth watching, which stick two fingers up to the football establishment, and which I’ll be telling my grandchildren about when Wilf’s grandchildren are running rings around Watford’s defence.

He gave us two more of those moments at Wembley in the semi: a perfectly-timed jump for the opening goal; then skilfully dragging in two defenders, allowing Souaré to cross to Wickham for the second. All while wearing boots which mapped the journey from his mum’s house to the iconic ground. It only takes one of these moments to change a game, to end 26 years of hurt, and to write a player’s name into Palace folklore forever. I think that name will be Bolasie’s.