Paddington Station on Monday I heard a Glaswegian shout “Yous were lucky yesterday!” | OneFootball

Nobody can say the winners of the 2025 League Cup were lucky to lift the trophy at Wembley on Sunday, can they?

The overwhelming feeling among the 32,000 black-and-white fans surrounding me (thank you again, my anonymous friend, for the ticket you couldn’t use) was that Newcastle United were worthy champions.

Perhaps more impressively, I have yet to read a comment from a Liverpool supporter suggesting their team were unfortunate.

Presumably, there was no dissent to be found in the 20,000-plus who were officially neutral at the national stadium, either.

That’s it, then; probably the shortest article I will write.

Well, there’s always one voice in the wilderness.

Mine arrived, uninvited, with a broad west of Scotland accent as I walked through Paddington station on Monday morning. The gentleman in question noticed my NUFC official merchandise bobble hat, circa 2005 and now lacking its bobble after a little too much excitement in Dortmund.

He couldn’t resist becoming the world’s most contrarian pundit. “Yous were lucky yesterday!”

I gave him a quick butcher’s, noticing the one visible tooth (front upper) when he grinned provocatively and the faded but impressive scar that stretched from near his right eye to his chin. He was also older, shorter and, I surmised, less likely than Mary Poppins to inflict GBH. Or so I hoped as I responded enthusiastically to his comment.

“Lucky? Lucky! That was one of those rare matches that had nothing to do with luck!”

“Nah, yous were lucky,” he repeated.

Being in high good spirits, I asked where he was from.

“Glasgow.”

“And which team do you support?”, assuming it was a binary choice and being unwilling to guess, just in case.

“Celtic.”

“Oh, they were my first football heroes,” I said truthfully, “the Lisbon Lions.”

The team who won every competition they entered in 1966-67 were special for many reasons, though to a seven-year-old who had already caught the football bug those green numbers on the white shorts were the clincher.

“Aye, I’ve got a signed Billy McNeill shirt,” my new friend announced. Some details were lost in translation, though the gist of his tale was that a relative had been one of the legendary skipper’s best mates and Jock had inherited the precious heirloom.

“Well,” I said, “there’s your pension. Take good care of it.”

He didn’t dispute that, despite his peculiar view of the cup final.

Was he as wrong as I believed? Were United in any way lucky winners? My first treat after arriving home was to watch the entire match again, this time from umpteen angles and in the sort of detail that spectators are denied. Good old ITVx had posted the pre-match build-up presented by Mark Chapman, the entire 101 minutes of play and the post-match celebrations. It seemed to be a joint effort with Sky Sports if the frequent references to their other programmes were any clue.

Obviously, the fast-forward button proved useful. Once the important footage was reached, I was pleased to notice that Liverpool had conceded the first three free-kicks, as I had believed on Sunday. We conceded the fourth, Liverpool the fifth. We were stopping them from playing their usual game, our midfield was dominating theirs and we had the first chances.

But what is this? Diaz is challenging Trippier on the right edge of our box and suddenly appeals to the referee. Although the incident was at our end of the stadium, my view was far from clear. Until the cameras played and replayed it, at normal speed and in slo-mo. Our fantastic full-back’s hand had touched the ball, altering its path slightly. His arm was outstretched. He was inside the penalty area.

If I had been watching the match live on television (thank goodness I wasn’t) my verdict would have been “penalty”. The referee, who had already shown he was prepared to let a few infringements go unpunished, didn’t blow his whistle. VAR checked his decision and concurred.

The much-maligned PGMOL has apparently adopted a “referee’s call” policy, similar to umpire’s call in cricket, although many more decisions are based on individual judgment in the beautiful game than in the summer sport. In other words, the VAR default position is to back the referee unless there is a blatant mistake.

If John Brooks, the man with the whistle, had pointed to the penalty spot, I very much doubt Stuart Attwell, the VAR, would have asked him to change his mind. Under Uefa’s current policy, it would almost certainly have been a penalty. Ask young Tino Livramento if you don’t believe me. And remember that approach next season, lads!

So my Glaswegian buddy was correct, up to a point. We were lucky that, at 0-0 with United the better team, Liverpool were not gifted a gilt-edged chance.

The next break in our favour arrived a minute after Burn’s blockbuster. Liverpool were trying to respond instantly. The ball bounced twice in our area for perhaps the first time in the entire half. It fell to Jota. He shanked it four yards wide from close range. It was a horrible miss; horrible but beautiful. Or Beautiful But Useless, the memorable name of a shop near the Ponte Vecchio in Florence the missus and I visited about 20 years ago.

Talking of which, we might be going all Anglo-Italian again in 2025 if Fiorentina do the business in Serie A.

This is going to sound like 20:20 hindsight but when I saw the Liverpool starting line-up my spirits soared. The optimism levels had been wavering as kick-off neared. A lifetime of disappointments is a heavy burden.

I was not alone. The Wi-Fi at EE-sponsored Wembley is shocking but one text did arrive at 15.49, from my ticket gifter on Tyneside. “It’s not the strongest Liverpool team, we have a good chance.”

His Royal Howeness went with the West Ham starters. Happy with that.

Slot went with No Alisson. Konate alongside Van Dijk despite struggling physically against PSG five days earlier. Quansah at right-back against a fired-up Barnes, benefiting from his game time at West Ham. An out-of-form Jota leading the line. Gakpo not fit enough to be more than a substitute. Happy with that? You betcha!

Of those choices, Kelleher rather than “the world’s greatest keeper” was not influenced by availability, as far as I know.

Big Nige, who tolerated my non-stop opinions with admirable patience, can testify that I said before kick-off: “If Liverpool lose and Kelleher is at all culpable, Slot will be to blame.”

Alisson’s deputy is something of a League Cup specialist. He scored the decisive penalty in the 2022 final. Two years later, he made some impressive saves as Liverpool won again. He is, nonetheless, second choice. Ask any United fan whether they would want the Brazilian or the Irishman in goal.

There is no place for sentiment when a manager selects a cup final team. Is Slot guilty of being kind rather than hard-hearted?

Nige can also verify my happiness at Jota’s inclusion. From the Liverpool matches I have watched recently, he is not the same player he was before injury sidelined him for 15 matches this season. That was another of my pre-match comments. I half-expected him to be benched.

Slot clearly believed the Portuguese striker was the best option. If the manager could turn back the clock a few days, would he do things differently?

You might say Jota’s miss and his generally bad day at the office were lucky for us. Perhaps that was what Jock meant when he said; “Yous were lucky.”

I would argue that Jota, Salah and Diaz were ineffective because United adopted tactics that kept them at arm’s length. Liverpool were rarely allowed to settle into the smooth pass-and-move football that has made them Premier League champions-elect.

Our midfield won the battle. And it was a battle. Those “Liverpool didn’t turn up” comments insult both teams. First, they condemn the losers. Second, they imply the winners didn’t beat much.

I detected no lack of effort from any of the 30 players who took part in what was a far more exciting contest than a lot of Wembley finals. It was incident-packed, mainly thanks to United’s front-foot approach. Right from the off, we tried to seize the initiative.

We should have scored long before the Blyth Colossus broke the deadlock. That corner routine was something I have been hoping to see all season. Have I mentioned that before?

Burn is not the most predictable header of a ball, the pig’s bladder can sometimes fly off his cranium in bizarre directions, but when he gets it right, boy, he gets it right. What a day to do it!

Howe, Tindall and the other coaches realised that if corners and wide free-kicks were hit beyond the far post at pace, Kelleher, Van Dijk and Konate would be taken out of the equation. None of them was prepared to stray very far from goal, a policy that left BDB to score from about 14 yards while Mac Allister, supposedly marking him, watched helplessly.

All of which brings us back to the keeper question. Trippier’s deep corners were perfect almost every time. Would Alisson have reached them? Unlikely. Would he have noticed Burn’s dominance on at least two occasions before the goal? Possibly. Would he have been better-positioned to dive to his right and save the downward header? Based on his performances against PSG, probably. Alisson has played only twice in this competition. Sunday should have been his third outing, in my humble opinion.

The texter from Tyneside somehow managed to send his half-time verdict. “Well, that was a spiffing first half, we can win this.” Not quite as impressive as Nostradamus, though I don’t believe the old mystic was handicapped by a bad back.

Kelleher kept the game alive by instinctively blocking what would have been Isak’s second goal. The keeper had no chance with our Swede’s first.

More than 200 years ago, John Keats wrote: “A thing of beauty is a joy for ever.” Time to fess up: I had to study Keats for A-level English literature. He was not my cup of tea. Probably a case of right poet, wrong time for this cynical teenager. His death aged 25 was good news in my book.

Before you judge too harshly, let me add I was deeply saddened when realising my other A-level poet, Wilfred Owen, had also died before his 26th birthday.

Anyway, back to the second goal. A thing of beauty and a joy for ever.

When Barnes and Livramento attacked Liverpool’s right flank, I shouted to nobody in particular: “We’ve got an overload, they’re short at the back.” A slick exchange of passes put our full-back clear but busting a gut to reach the ball before it crossed the dead-ball line.

How could I doubt him? With his weaker foot, which he employed to great effect all afternoon when outwitting opponents, he sent over the most exquisite cross. It flew high and true beyond Kelleher. We had a player leaping at the far post. He was heading it back towards the six-yard line. In a blur of movement, Isak whipped it low and true into the net. For a moment, time stood still. Then absolute bedlam erupted in the United sections, where every fan must have had a great view of what was the best move of the match. Liverpool came nowhere near producing a move of such quality, one reason I took exception to Slot’s suggestion that we won by playing a game alien to his style. Any team in the world would have been proud to score that goal.

The big screens at Wembley were not ideally placed, so I didn’t truly appreciate the quality of the build-up and the goal until I watched it on TV. Then watched it again; and again; and again. Excellent interplay by Barnes and Livramento. A back-post header by Jacob Murphy that would have impressed the late Gary Speed, a master of arriving late in the box. Smurph won the challenge against Robertson with a powerful leap. A finish straight out of Der Bomber’s greatest hits. The way Isak lost VVD, an excellent centre-half, showed football intelligence of the highest order. Now you see him, now you don’t!

Oh, and there he is again, wheeling away to celebrate another goal, a not unfamiliar scenario over the past three seasons. No wonder the Liverpool captain had his head in his hands while the black-and-white hordes went bonkers.

We are certainly lucky to have the services of our super Swede. Lucky to win on Sunday? I think not, although if the same incidents had been played out at Anfield I fear the Reds would have been given that penalty when the score was still 0-0.

Football can be a cruel game and many’s the time “the better team” have left the field empty-handed. You don’t deserve to win unless you score more than the opposition. We did; and that’s what makes us worthy champions.