Sometimes I wonder why I love Football but on Saturday I was reminded in no uncertain terms as to why I am in love with the beautiful game.

I woke up at 5:31AM. This is in part due to the very drunk man that was laying on my bed but mostly due to the fact it was FA Cup Final day. I was only eight years old when Pompey last reached the semi-finals. I cried that day, cried tears of agony watching my team lose. 16 years later I saw us win a semi-final and book a place in a Wembley final.

The nerves were already in full swing when I got out of bed. The morning dragged like anything, watching football shows all the way until it was time to leave. I was on a work weekend away so instead of travelling up to Aldershot I came down from the Cotswolds and the train was rammed full of Cardiff fans.

The ones I sat with and spoke too were nice enough. We had a good chat about the game and then it was off to Wembley. It was grey and overcast when I met up with my friends who had my ticket. They were in the neutral area but when I got up there I was surrounded predominately by Cardiff fans.

Sitting high up practically on the half way line I had what most would call the perfect view. It was a shame I wasn’t buried deep inside of the Portsmouth end but just being there was the all important thing. Being a fan of a so called unfashionable club just being at a Cup Final is just an incredible feeling.

The game itself wasn’t a classic but it was better than what had occurred twelve months earlier. When Kanu hit the post after a wonderful piece of skill I was stunned beyond belief. 14 minutes later though everything would change.

A mistake by the Cardiff keeper gifted a goal to the Nigerian and Portsmouth were ahead. I went absolutely nuts, I really did, luckily no-one really seemed too offended. The rest of the game passed by in a blur. Never did I feel that we were going to concede, not even when they had the ball in the back of the net. I spotted the handball and had seen Mike Dean signal pretty early so my heart didn’t even skip a beat.

When the referee blew for full-time I kept my emotions in check but it wouldn’t be for long. As the players were celebrating on the field I welled up. The realisation had got to me, I was watching my team lift the FA Cup. I was there with 30,000+ other Portsmouth fans seeing a dream become reality.

Never in all my dreams did I ever picture being at Wembley stadium watching my beloved Portsmouth win the Cup. It is days like these that fans of the big teams will never understand. Winning things is second nature to them, for 99% of Pompey fans there it was the first major trophy they had ever seen the club win.

The tears didn’t roll down the cheek, I wiped them away before that but I would well up once more. I just stood there for around twenty minutes not believing what my eyes were witnessing. Portsmouth players on the pitch celebrating winning the greatest club competition in the world. Some will argue that the Champions League is better but I would argue with that profusely. Kids do not go to bed dreaming about winning the league or the Champions League, they dream of winning the FA Cup.

Those that know me well will know that I am not a natural smiler. I am pretty straight faced and smiling is not something that naturally occurs. On Saturday for those twenty minutes I just couldn’t stop beaming and welling up. Being a fan of a football team, certainly a working class team like Portsmouth makes you feel part of a family. I was proud of the boys, the manager, the fans, the city of a whole, Portsmouth, my Portsmouth were at the centre of the football world, even if it was for just one day.

The journey home was surreal. I bumped into a couple of Pompey fans on the tube who were going the same way as me so I tagged along with them. We missed the train but literally seconds despite running the length of the underground only to be foiled. The train home was again with a hoard of Cardiff fans.

Despite it being an amazing day it wasn’t until I got back that I realised what was so special. From when I got on the train at 11:07 on Kemble station until I got back I didn’t think about anything except the game and football. My personal problems that had been running through my mind at a million miles an hour hadn’t even made an appearance in my thought process. The game had been a complete release, a distraction from the day-to-day grind of my life and my issues. I had forgotten just how much a game of football could help forget about the rest of my lives problems.

When I got home today I watched the Sky coverage of the game. Seeing Jamie Redknapp celebrate with his family was special. Both Meridian Tonight and South Today gave the game and the parade and celebrations pride of place in their programming. The pictures of 300,000 fans lining the streets of the city once again brought a tear to the eye.

Portsmouth is a proud city full of proud people. I am a proud man today and it is now over 48 hours since the game. Football has brought me many lows and a few highs but Saturday was about as high as I could ever be. Maybe a marriage or having a kid could knock those twenty minutes of my life off top spot but in the current climate neither look likely.

As I am writing this I’m watching the BBC coverage of the game and I am still emotional. There isn’t too much more I can say apart from your 2008 FA Cup winners are Portsmouth.