Powell's Wembley memories: The day Bobby got me the best seat in the house

In truth, it is a privilege. Privileges come in many shapes and guises and it is 32 years since I had the unique privilege of becoming the only journalist to walk up that famed Wembley tunnel with a cup final team; to tread that hallowed turf on the big day; to sit with the manager on the bench.

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The date was May 3, 1975. Bobby Moore's new club were playing Bobby Moore's old club and he asked Fulham manager Alec Stock if I might share the day of his final reunion with his old mates at West Ham.

"Of course," said Stock. "Something different to help calm the jolly old nerves." The tension tightened on cup final morning at our Hadley Wood hotel when lawyers brought word that their boot sponsors were seeking an injunction to prevent the Fulham players wearing their favourite, but different, footwear.

The dispute would not be resolved until the coach had inched through cheering fans and the gates of the old stadium.

Not until the Fulham team had spent some of the build-up blacking out white markings on their boots. When the door to that north dressing room was held open for them, Moore remarked to the Fulham captain Alan Mullery, his old England colleague: "Nice to be home again."

It was the last time either of them would go through this ritual so familiar to them. We went to inspect the pitch and Moore joked with the West Ham players as we came back down the tunnel.

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Another crisis broke the ice for younger members of the Fulham team. A police motorcyclist had to be sent to a local sports shop to buy replacements for their shinpads, which had been left at the hotel. The new pads were too big and coach Billy Taylor cut them down to size with a hacksaw.

They knew the moment had come when Moore pulled on his shorts, his last ritual before leaving a dressing room. Stock said: "Enjoy yourselves, lads. This is it."

Moore said: "Tall and proud up the tunnel. Stride out there and show'em we mean business." Like the players I jerked upright, involuntarily.

There was light at the end of that tunnel, all right. Blinding sunlight. And the noise. The Wembley Roar. That fabled wall of sound hit those of us who had never walked through it before like a brick in the teeth.

Moore looked back to see blood draining from less experienced faces. "A warm welcome," he called out. "Love it. Remember it."

You don't hear the National Anthem. The next thing you know the referee is blowing the whistle for kick-off.

Stock and Taylor urged on their team of Second Division under-dogs; from the West Ham bench Ron Greenwood and John Lyall sent out their instructions.

Down there the pace appeared more urgent than a game watched from the stands, the physical contact firmer.

It was goalless at the interval and in the dressing room Fulham still believed they could deny the inevitable. They were mistaken.

Two mistakes by goalkeeper Peter Mellor and two reflex goals by West Ham's Alan Taylor in the space of five minutes and the day was lost.

It was a quiet coach ride to The Dorchester in London's West End. James Mason, the iconic British actor, was staying at the hotel.

When told Fulham's post-final banquet was taking place there, he made his way to Moore's table, introduced himself and said: "As one artist to another, I would like to shake your hand."

Not long after, Moore declined another lager, went to his room, sat on the end of the bed, looked at his loser's medal and said: "I'm glad I didn't get many of these." I have reported on almost 40 FA Cup Finals but on no other so intimately.

That's the story of one Wembley final but in its ecstasy and agony, its hopes fulfilled and broken dreams, it is the essence of so many others, including the one which will kick off tomorrow with a parade of past heroes.

It is taking a near-billion pound stadium and the two monumental spenders at the top of the Premiership to restore the most ancient of all football competitions to its traditional glory.

Let them be conscious of that legacy as they play the game.