Graham Poll - Seeing Red

All referees have to fill in a form at the start of each season with details of where they live (to calculate distances for expenses) and any potential conflicts of interest. They are asked about any club allegiances. I always left that section blank. I am prepared to own up now that I never declared my affection for Gonville Rovers.

Anyway, I was told that Nick Whitehead and another acquaintance from Kodak, John Elliott, attended a sporting dinner, at which England’s finest former referee, Jack Taylor, was the speaker and answered questions. Nick asked the great man whether a referee could take charge of an FA Cup Final if he supported one of the teams. He was told, ‘Of course not.’

Whether Nick honestly but mistakenly thought I supported Chelsea, and whether that answer set the cash register bell ringing in his mind, I don’t know. Perhaps an alarm bell should have rung in my mind when Nick telephoned me out of the blue to talk about the Blues. Anyway, I was told that Nick had given the ‘story’ to the News of the World .

I made a telephone call to Adrian Bevington, of the Football Association’s press office. He rang the News of the World and stressed that the FA knew that I was a lapsed QPR follower, not a Chelsea supporter. He said that if the newspaper alleged I would not be impartial at the Cup Final, the FA would sue.

The bloke in the bushes had not managed to snatch a picture of me when I had answered the front door. And I had some more disappointment for him. I smuggled myself and my family out of the back of the house and into the garage. We drove away without the News of the World realizing.

I’ve had ‘gentlemen of the press’ camped outside more than once in my career. I hope they all filled up with petrol locally on their way back to their offices, and bought ciggies and sarnies locally as well. I’d like to think that, whatever else they did, they helped the local Tring economy.

Numbers of potential customers for local shopkeepers have varied. An entire media circus made their way to the Tring exit of the A41 bypass immediately after my mistake in the 2006 World Cup. But there was just a meagre pair – a reporter and a photographer – after the match at The Valley the following season, when the myth was created that I had done a special favour for Charlton manager Alan Pardew.

I have never really worked out what picture the photographer in the bushes before the 2000 FA Cup Final thought he might get. Did he expect me to come to the door in a full Chelsea kit, with rosettes, a scarf and a rattle?

The News of the World still believed they had a story, but they relegated it to page nine. They published the results of the QPR games I had reffed. I think Rangers had lost five out of six, so any perceived bias by me had not done them much good.

I made another telephone call a couple of days before the Final. This one was to Aston Villa manager John Gregory to explain what had happened. He said, ‘If I could have chosen a referee for the Final, it would be you.’ I like to think, knowing what I do now about him, that he meant it, but it did not stop Villa using psychology to try to undermine me at Wembley.

I was thirty-six, and nowhere near the end of my career, I hoped. Yet I knew that this would be my only FA Cup Final. Nobody gets the top domestic honour more than once. It was an appointment I treasured and cherished. It is every referee’s ambition to take charge of the Final and yet some very good referees never get the opportunity. Every year, the guessing game about who will earn the appointment dominates referees’ conversations. We work out who has a chance, calculate who might be unlucky, and wait for the big announcement.

Ever since I had started refereeing – or at least from the days when I started to do well and begin to think I could scale the refereeing ladder – I had aimed to reach the Final. In fact, in about 1985 I told my mum, ‘I will referee the FA Cup Final in the year 2000.’ I meant that I was striving for it. It was my career target. In the succeeding years, I kept that target in my sights as I worked my way up that ladder.

So when the daft prediction that I had made as a young man actually came true, I was as proud as could be. Joe Guest, the FA’s head of refereeing, telephoned and said, ‘I’m calling to see if you are available on May 22nd.’ For once, I didn’t make a wisecrack. I resisted the temptation to say, ‘I’ll have to check.’ I understood the importance of the FA Cup, the significance of the Final and the place the day had in the heart of real football fans. Plus, the 2000 Final was the first of the new millennium and the last at Wembley before the old ground, with its traditions and memories, was demolished to be replaced (eventually!) by a new stadium.

So, despite the best efforts of Nick Whitehead and the News of the World , I enjoyed the build-up to the big day. I wallowed in it. Neither am I ashamed to say that I enjoyed all the media attention involved. It made me feel special, but then, to my mind, the FA Cup Final was special and I was going to have a role in it.

Tradition dictates that the Wembley match officials and their wives are honoured by the London Society of Referees at an ‘Eve of the Final Rally’ – a social gathering which referees of all levels attend. As a young referee, I had gone to the Rally to gawp at icons like Neil Midgley and George Courtney. I was far too much in awe of them to actually approach them, but lots of the other refs wanted their moment with the Wembley officials, and so the Rally always went into extra-time.

The fact that I had been so many times to the Rally as a callow kid was another reason for me to savour the fact that I was going to referee the 2000 Final. Now it was my turn to be the principal guest at the Rally, but I was concerned it would end too late.

Peter Jones – we shall meet him again during my story – had been the Cup Final ref in 1999 and told me that he did not get back to his hotel from the Rally until just before midnight. He had to deal with a queue of people wanting autographs. He admitted that it was not ideal preparation for his big day.

So I asked to change a couple of things. I said that I’d arrange for the four match officials to autograph all the 200 or so programmes for the event in advance. Nobody would have to queue up at the end for signatures. And I said that I wanted to speak at the beginning of the function, rather than at the conclusion, so that I could leave in time for a proper night’s rest.

Some of the blazer brigade thought it was sacrilege to alter the schedule. They concluded – like many before and since – that Graham Poll was arrogant. I could argue that my need to prepare properly was the opposite of arrogance. But most people have already made up their mind about me.

Something else made the chaps in blazers splutter with indignation. Darren Drysdale, one of the assistant referees, had recently become engaged. He and his fiancée, Wendy, couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Eventually I had to say, ‘Can you give it a rest please? Or get a room.’

He replied, ‘We can’t help it. We’re in love.’ Obviously, I did not tell the other match officials about that at the first opportunity or take the mickey out of him in any way at all. I returned to the Hendon Hall Hotel at a respectable hour and had a good sleep. I can’t tell you whether I dreamed or not – but then I had been dreaming of refereeing the FA Cup Final for nearly twenty years.

On the big day, I was determined to follow the advice of previous Final refs and seep myself in the atmosphere. They said they had enjoyed standing on the balcony, between Wembley’s old twin towers, watching both sets of supporters walking towards the stadium along Empire Way. But when I stood there in 2000, Villa supporters who spotted me started to sing vile songs about my alleged allegiance to Chelsea. Joe Guest advised us to leave the balcony. I was grievously disappointed. Thanks, News of the World .