Proud to be a Claret

The final whistle blew after 120 minutes of Claret and Blue bravery.

We were 180 seconds away from Wembley.

Three minutes from the promise land.

You look around you in the stand, people had dared to dream. I had dared to dream.

Tears were shed as the gut wrenching blow of Pavlyuchenko’s winner was compounded by Defoe sticking his salty fingers deep into Burnley’s wound.

It’s not unusual for football to put you through every conceivable emotion but tonight was something incomparable to anything I’ve experienced before and perhaps will ever again.

Last time we reached a cup final in 1962 Spurs denied us victory. Tonight was to be no different in the quest to reach our first in forty seven years.

Many who were there that day in ’62 may never get another chance to see the small town club they adore play in another cup final.

And who knows, this may be the closest I ever get.

But I couldn’t ask anymore of those players and couldn’t be prouder.

Harry’s pooch faced smugness was well and truly wiped away; for tonight Houdini’s escape was a bungled effort which left him gasping for breath.

Spurs can have their heartless multi million pound squad; because tonight I saw two teams leagues apart in terms of character, cohesion and spirit.

The level of performance offered by everyone in Claret and Blue was something to behold.

It’s been a great cup run and something that will live long in the memory.

Beating the likes of Fulham, Arsenal and Chelsea on the road to the semi finals was a tremendous achievement, as was taking Tottenham right to the wire.

The thanks and credit must go to Owen Coyle and his team for what they’ve achieved so far this season.

But it’s not over yet.

I said at the start of the piece I dared to dream.

And I still do.

There may be no League Cup final for us this season, but there are still scalps to be taken in the F.A Cup and a trip to Wembley via the playoffs is still on.

Burnley Football Club should believe it.

The dream never dies.

Up the Clarets.