MATCH REPORT: AFC Wimbledon - Swindon Town (Johnstone’s Paint Trophy)

Wembley Stadium, Final

Referee: Grant Lindum

AFC Wimbledon Starting XI: Brown; Fuller, Bennett, Fundingsrud (Frampton 87’), Kennedy; Porter, L. Moore [c] (Sainte-Luce 87’), Pell (Sweeney 87’), Arthur; Green (Bald), Green (Other)

AFC Wimbledon Substitutes: Sheringham, Frampton, Sweeney, Sainte-Luce, Strutton

Swindon Town Starting XI: Foderingham; Caddis, Ward, Archibald-Henville, McEveley; Rooney, Mason, Luongo (Navarro 65’), Harley (Byrne 71’), Pritchard [c]; Ranger

Swindon Town Substitutes: Thompson, Byrne, Navarro, Storey, Bedwell

It seemed right that it snowed today. We don’t get snow this far south very often these days- mostly rain, rain, rain- and certainly not this late in the year. But today is different. Demarcated. Special. Most cup final days at Wembley are, but this was something else.

Since we all know the narrative threads surrounding this game- Manager John Green’s first game against his former club, strikers Bald John Green and Other John Green in their first game against their former club, Wimbledon going for their first piece of silverware as a League club, Swindon using this to turn the page- we’re not going to go into all that here. Instead we’re going to talk about how the scene was laid before we jump into the football. The gently falling snow. Swindon fans giving their former manager a hearty round of applause. Supporters for both teams unveiling a giant collaborative banner showing a robin and a double-headed eagle in flight, wings joined together, making an entire lap around the stands at Wembley. One of the loudest, most moving renditions of Abide With Me sung by all 90,000 in attendance. There’s not a lot of history- good or bad- between these clubs, but you wouldn’t be able to tell today.

Still, there was football to be played today. In a sense, these teams weren’t playing each other today- their most immediate opponents were themselves. For Wimbledon, victory would come down to whether the squad could push through the crushing fatigue they’ve struggled with since Boxing Day. For Swindon, their challenge was twofold: Which version of Nile Ranger would show up today- the lethal finisher, or the bumbling diva? And would Wes Foderingham be able to come up big when it mattered?

And for both teams, the answer through 90 minutes were a set of qualified Yeses. By most quantitative and qualitative measures, Wimbledon dominated the game- in possession, in shots on target, in forward movement and initiative. That the Blue and Yellow didn’t notch a goal through 90 minutes was, in fact, a credit to some top shelf shot-stopping from Wes Foderingham. (And, on a few occasions, the post.) For all their pressing, all their pace out wide, all their ambition in front of goal, the Dons simply couldn’t break the deadlock. For their part, Swindon seemed content to sit back and defend, confident that their moment would come once Wimbledon had exhausted themselves. (They must have also felt assured that they would win a potential penalty shootout with Foderingham’s reflexes. They clearly didn’t know that Seb Brown had once saved two penalties against Luton Town to send Wimbledon into the Football League. Have you heard that story?) Wimbledon’s irresistible force met Swindon’s immovable object, and after 90 minutes neither party found joy. (Context is everything.)

The Dons trudged into extra time with fatigue starting to settle in. If Swindon’s plan was indeed to let Wimbledon tire themselves out, there seemed to be every chance it would pay off. Their pace notably slowed, more balls were thrown heedlessly into the box, and Swindon started to slowly, inexorably, press forward. Doubt crept amongst the fans. Every football supporter has learned to become intimately acquainted with disappointment, like a former lover who has a habit of strolling into your life unannounced and throwing your whole world into chaos, and the intoxicating scent was starting to waft.

But then it happened.

Kevin Sainte-Luce bombing down the right flank. The lofted ball into the box. Bald John Green’s head. Wes Foderingham’s flailing arms. The holding of breath. The cutting of the air. The bulging of the net.

Then, just about a minute later, the next thing happened.

The kickoff. The tackle. Bald John Green’s feet. The out-foxed defender. The misdirected gaze. The bulging of the net, once again.

A whistle blew, a few moments rest were taken, and then the next thing happened.

The clever through ball from Other John Green. Kevin Sainte-Luce’s dribble. The ball rolling over grass and, finally, over chalk. The sound of 45,000 fans cheering. The sound of 45,000 hearts breaking.

And ten minutes later, the last thing happened. A whistle was blown three times. A great roar went up. Blue and yellow confetti mingled with the snow and fell to earth. A trophy was raised.

Not many people see this trophy as anything other than a consolation prize for League clubs not good enough to make a decent run in the FA Cup. And for more than a few clubs- including AFC Wimbledon- this represents little more than a chance to be shown on television outside of the Football League Show on the BBC. Fair point. But nine years ago, AFC Wimbledon wasn’t even eligible for this trophy- the best they could’ve hoped for was a respectable showing in the FA Vase. In our short history as a League club, this is the highest honour we’ve ever achieved. We should enjoy it on its own terms.

Until the next thing happens.

AFC Wimbledon 3-0 Swindon Town a.e.t

Scoreline: Bald Green (WIM) 105’, Bald Green (WIM) 105’ + 2, Sainte-Luce (WIM) 109’

Discipline: n/a