What is it like being the chairman of a Cup Final team at Wembley Stadium? How does it feel to be a figurehead at the game which has become one of the outstanding English spectacles and sporting festivals? Two days before the event, the Turf Moor party arrived at their hide-out hotel in North London. In view of their slump, the team might have been on edge, with forebodings. They were not: they were more relaxed, and more sure of themselves, than at any time during the season. League troubles were over and done with. They were ready for the Big Show, which millions had come to regard as the Cup Final of the century.

We were at least playing opponents respected for their type of football. Young Ian Towers took the manager's decision to restore Gordon Harris to outside-left like the man he is. Then the day of all days. I left the party before noon, along with my wife and daughter, and the senior director, Mr. Wilfred Hopkinson, to attend the pre-match luncheon at Wembley Stadium. Already in the ground were thousands of Burnley supporters. All had spent many hours travelling to London; some had had no sleep on Friday night. 'Oop for the Cup', they call it. But it raised a lump in the throat to see all these good lads from home - cheery, excited, and bedecked.

Before the luncheon I met the Tottenham chairman, Mr. Fred Wale, one of my best friends in football, and he introduced me to a man I have longed to meet since the Battle of El Alamein - yes, Viscount Montgomery. After chatting with my wife and daughter, Barbara, he drew me aside and asked me about this town of Burnley. How had it come to all this prominence in football? What was its size? He was very surprised that we could come to the front in this way with a population of only 81,500. "That," I said, "is a long, long story," and invited him to come to Turf Moor, then we could explain how it was done. He replied that some time he would visit Burnley and I intend to prepare in all ways possible for the day. I have always had a special admiration for Lord Montgomery. I believe that after Sir Winston Churchill he was on the pedestal as second man in the war effort. True, he may be criticised, belittled, taunted, by some people and, by the silly few, even hated. So am I. He treads on people's corns. What does it matter so long as he stands by his ideals and finishes off a job correctly and successfully!

One thing I already knew about 'Monty': when he became president of Portsmouth Football Club he went about the job with the thoroughness of Alamein. He would be no numbskull at the job. He did what most other people would have considered superfluous. Before accepting the appointment he asked for the whole history of the club and wanted to know the whys and wherefores of everything connected with it. I understand that he invited the chief representative of the club to his house and devoted two whole days to getting and grasping the facts. What a character! This country cries aloud for such men, to sort the wheat from the chaff, without fear or favour, and get on with the job. He is a freeman of Manchester, Liverpool, and Bolton, and it was quite like 'Monty' to make no secret of his Lancashire sympathies at the Cup Final. He told me very plainly that he was shouting inwardly for Burnley, and he was certainly the first person in the royal box to express sympathy to me when the game was over. Moreover, three days later I received a letter which proved his sincerity, a letter I shall always prize.

This pre-match luncheon is attended by distinguished people and by a good many more I had never encountered in all my wanderings around the football world. I was at a loss to understand why so many people were present whom I had never seen at a soccer game before. As I was a guest, and a grateful guest, I have to be guarded in comment, but I'm quite sure that a high percentage of the gathering had not seen any soccer from one Cup Final to the next. Indeed, when the match started one member in the select seats near the royal box seemed surprised that the teams were using a round ball.

When this function was over Walter Winterbottom, F.A. team manager, took Mr. Wale and myself across the pitch to the dressing-rooms. What a thrill this journey gave me! I had waited years for these moments. What a spectacle! How proud I felt that Burnley had earned the right to share it!

On the way to the players' tunnel the Tottenham fans cheered their chairman and chivvied the man from Lancashire. All in good fun. All in the game. A grin and wave of the hand kept them smiling. Through the tunnel, whence a million pounds' worth of footballers soon would appear, a parting handshake with the Spurs chairman, and so to the Burnley dressing-rooms. All this may seem simple, but in Wembley's Cup Final atmosphere it is exhilarating - the experience of a lifetime.

I spoke to the players individually, dithering with emotion and pride. Do not forget these young men in claret-and-blue had given thousands, millions, of people during these last few seasons measureless thrills and enjoyment. Anyone can have the Continental stars who, they tell us, do it all so much better. Anyone can have his pin-ups. To me, these lads who represent Burnley are eleven of the dearest on earth. I had private words with the captain, Adamson, and told him my feelings: "We all want to win, of course, but so long as we can reach peak form, even in defeat, I'll be satisfied. Today there are a hundred thousand people seeing you in the flesh and goodness knows how many millions watching on TV. If you show the world what type of football we have been playing all this season we can do the game proud." And I know it was in this mood that Burnley fought out the final. I took the liberty of peeping into the Tottenham dressing-room and wishing them well, and so to the holy of holies.

Twenty minutes before the kick-off we lined up in the tunnel beneath the royal box to meet the Queen, the Duke of Edinburgh, and other members of the Royal Family. Here, the line of people to be presented was: Mr. A. G. Doggart (chairman of the F.A. Council), Major J. Stewart (vice-chairman), Mr. David Wiseman (chairman of the Cup Committee), Mr. Denis Follows, the new secretary of the Football Association, Sir Stanley Rous, the Mayor of Tottenham, the Mayor of Burnley, myself, Mr. Fred Wale, and Sir Bracewell Smith (chairman of Wembley Stadium). First came the Duke of Gloucester and formal presentations. Then the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh. The ceremonies continued. On my right was our worthy Mayor, Councillor Edward Sandy, and through chatting on the way the Duke of Edinburgh had fallen behind in the presentations.

Prince Philip was at a loss to know who he was meeting and smilingly asked our Mayor: "Who are you?" The Mayor gave his identity. The Prince grinned and said: "I'm very pleased to meet you. No one ever tells me anything." My turn next, so I bowed and identified myself: "I'm Lord of Burnley." A great big smile spread over his face. While the players were being presented to the Duke I took my place in the royal box. I felt as small as a pin head. On my left was the seat of the Duke of Edinburgh, and all the chats I had with him during the first half of the match confirmed my impressions. A human, likeable personality. He showed quite a good knowledge of the game - much different from a lot of people I had the pleasure of meeting at Wembley. The barrow boy, Lord of Burnley, was in royal company. I don't know whether they enjoyed it, but I did.

The Duke of Edinburgh, in my judgement, is a person who wishes to typify the true principles of this democratic country. He retains the dignity of his position without being stand-offish. Small things count: after a while he rested a foot on a ledge below the front of the royal box for comfort, so I took courage and sank more comfortably into my basket-chair. The Duke had certainly made me feel more at home. Yes, I quite took to Prince Philip, and, as you will have gathered from all the preamble, I am not a fellow who is easily pleased. At half-time the chairmen of the competing clubs change places. So my neighbour now became the Duke of Gloucester, who was next to the Queen. But this second half smothered all personal feelings with its tremendous events afield.

A director of a club in the final-tie has butterflies in the stomach in battalions. The strain is so severe that one of these days someone will be carried out. But how about the chairman! How about an emotional character like Bob Lord, seeing he has to restrain and contain his feelings because of his royal neighbours! Ordeal is not the word.

First there was Tottenham's sensational opening goal in the third minute - the send-off we so badly wanted because the Spurs are better as leaders than losers. This was a real jolt. Half an hour of dejection and somersaults in the stomach so recently patched up . . . the trying pause during the interval

when you have to put on a big, bold smile for all and sundry . . .and then, before you have settled in your new seat and know where you are, our equalising goal. Up in the heavens, down with a dramatic, pulverising drop sixty seconds later when the Spurs go straight down the field and snatch the lead again! You are just numb.

But in the remaining play the claret-and-blue gained a million friends. How we lost by debated incidents concerning a linesman's signal for a free kick before the referee awarded the knock-out penalty-kick decision does not now matter. The Manchester United v. Blackpool final of

1948 was memorable. The Bolton Wanderers v. Blackpool final in 1953, which is called 'The Stanley Matthews Match' but which to me was as much Ernie Taylor's final, will never be forgotten. But this 1962 match had scientific football from two sides, and somersaults; the day will be with me till I die.

Our players, of course, were down in the mouth. Two honours lost on the post. But their sportsmanship in defeat crowned a glorious season. Remember that when the referee pointed to the penalty spot not one of Burnley's players made any protest. Many of the missing millions would return to the football grounds if this behaviour was maintained throughout the season in first-class football. The Football League Management Committee must take it on their shoulders to see that not only are instructions given to clubs but also to referees to stamp out all ungentlemanly play, malicious practices, all doubtful ways of playing the game.

Once the players find that it is going to be more profitable to their persons and their pockets always to play the game in a sportsmanlike way, the dirty work will soon disappear. One of the most poignant minutes of a footballer's life must be to hear the whistle sound the end and signal that the final-tie has been lost. The winners, the Tottenham Hotspur team, ascended the steps to the royal box. I would make a suggestion for future finals: why can't winners and losers go up in pairs-the captains, the goalkeepers, the right-backs, and so on. Why leave the defeated players standing below, with tears in their eyes, adding humiliation to defeat? It is inhuman.

However, Danny Blanchflower, perhaps short of wind, but full of glee, ascended the steps and, as I was two or three places away from the Queen, he had to pass my seat. I had no hesitation in thrusting out a hand to congratulate him. This I did with other performers, including the referee and linesmen. That is just how I felt. I believe that is the way it should be. After the game I was told that perhaps I had not done the right thing in congratulating these passers-by before the Queen had had the opportunity of doing so. Without disrespect, I make no apology, and probably would do it again.

Then off to the dressing-rooms of the two teams and more congratulations and commiserations. On returning through the players' tunnel I realised the dinginess of Wembley Stadium behind the scenes. First impressions were startling; now they were confirmed. It was more like a dungeon than the Number One enclosure of English football - of England, the soccer pioneers. I have never been in prison but that is what it seemed like. It consisted of nothing else but well-worn concrete to walk on, to live with before and after the shining soccer spectacle outside. No decorative touches. All dismal and drab. Wembley is now to be equipped with modern facilities. High time. What must the Continentals, with their elaborate enclosures, have thought about it! The much-boasted Wembley Stadium! All glitter and glory outside; all gloom within.

If Wembley authorities have a long contract with the Football Association and other bodies for the use of this arena, they should consider spending a million pounds. Make it possible for 150,000 to 200,000 people to see its shows in comfort. The existing 100,000 plans do not go far enough. Some say a larger enclosure means that many of the spectators would be too far away to get a good view of the game. I am sure it is better to have 100,000 of them seeing it that way than 100,000 crowded out and seeing nothing at all. It was mooted in official circles ten years ago that the football authorities might build their own up-to-date stadium. The opportunity seems to have been missed, as have other opportunities for progress.

The Burnley Cup Final banquet at the Caf� Royal was a winner, anyway. Losers? Who would have thought it! Guests included three of the top men in football: Mr. A. G. Doggart, chairman of the F.A., Mr. Joe Richards, president of the League, and the new president of the Federation of International Football Associations, Sir Stanley Rous, plus many other notabilities in the game. Some good and some not so good. Such tributes as these were paid:

Mr. Graham Doggart said the class of football seen in the final did not happen by accident. In addition to being good-looking himself, Harry Potts knew how to produce a good-looking team - a harmonious whole. Of Jimmy Adamson's selection as Walter Winterbottom's assistant to go with the England team for the World Cup Finals in Chile, the F.A. chief added that he could think of no one more eminently fitted for the task. After congratulating Adamson and McIlroy on being chosen first and second by the Football Writers' Association in the ballot for the Footballer of the Year, Mr.Doggart dealt with me.

"As a North Country man from Bishop Auckland I value plain speaking. Your chairman has always

been able to bring honest-to-goodness, plain speaking to problems. To this we have become accustomed, whether in a rough and tumble with the Football Association or with the Football

League. But I have always been conscious of a golden heart beating strongly in the interests of football."

Mr. E. A. Eden, vice-president of the F.A., was good enough to say about the Wembley penalty kick that Burnley showed no dissent and by that act were re-establishing the name of the F.A. and the game at a time when other pastimes were saying the attitude in soccer towards referees' decisions was not all it should be. When Jimmy Adamson commented on the presence of Cliff Britton, former manager at Turf Moor, he quipped, "Cliff Britton did a great job for Burnley - he signed me! And he did it for the only club in the country which puts its players before its directors."

When Danny Blanchflower was toasted he said the respect of the Spurs for Burnley was now even higher, and that we took defeat better than they would have done! I must pay tribute to Messrs. A. Maddox (Burnley secretary) and his assistant John Timpson for all their Cup Final and banquet services.

During the weekend one wondered what sort of reception would await us in Burnley. Ten miles out, any doubt disappeared. Thousands of people lined the roads all the way. Rain did not deter them: they were marvellous. At last the worries of Wembley were over. Defeated but not downhearted, proud but not arrogant, some day we will bring back that Cup.

But the interval between semi-final and final should be longer - at least six weeks. There are endless arrangements and details involved. The final-tie tickets rush is a nightmare. No meal in peace. No night when the telephone bell is silent. The Postmaster-General should give his staff at a Cup Final centre a special bonus. One receives letters from all types of people who very carefully indicate that they have had some contact with you and yours during all the years on earth. Some consider it reasonable to ask for half a dozen tickets, and I freely admit that I left for Wembley with 400 or 500 letters unopened.

That is one reason why Burnley have asked that the final tie clubs should each be granted 30,000 tickets. This would not be sufficient, but it is ludicrous that each gets less than a sixth of the total.

I have already claimed that the price of the tickets should be raised. How much money shall we have cleared from the Cup Final? No doubt you will be surprised to know that after paying all expenses the figure is probably no more than �1500 left. If correct prices of admission were charged, in relation to today's economic situation, each competing club could probably have �50,000.

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