Leicester v Tranmere, 2000 League Cup final - a fictional ending

The peak moment in the long history of Tranmere Rovers came at 16:32 on Sunday 27th February 2000. At that precise moment, a ball caressed a net at Wembley Stadium, propelled by the left boot of Dave Kelly, a Superwhite captain. Behind the goal, thousands upon thousands celebrated in a sea of jubilation as Rovers drew level in the League Cup final. Just thirteen minutes remained and Leicester were on the ropes, a Goliath dazed quite literally by the force of David’s attack.

Of course, we all know what happened next. Leicester scored four minutes later and somehow held on amid a deluge of late Rovers pressure. From that fleeting zenith, Tranmere tumbled mercilessly through the divisions. They now languish in the fifth tier, far removed from the glory of yesteryear.

But what if it had been different? What if Kelly’s goal was a catalyst for success, an event that enabled the club to soar rather than slip through the ensuing decades? We have all fantasised about it, but now I’m going to commit those dreams to an article.

Without further ado, here is an alternative ending to Tranmere Rovers’ only major cup final, and a romantic reimagining of the years that followed.

With eighty-one minutes elapsed at Wembley, Leicester won a corner, which was attacked viciously by Matt Elliott, their bald and sinister captain. Joe Murphy, Rovers’ fresh-faced goalkeeper, was beaten by the header, but Reuben Hazell was fortunately standing at the back post and somehow managed to hack it off the line to preserve the 1-1 scoreline.

From there, the game settled into a frantic rhythm as time seeped away. As the board was raised to indicate four minutes of additional time, Alan Mahon heaved a free-kick forward from his own half, deep into the Leicester box. Kelly scampered to retrieve it near the byline and managed to stand the ball up beautifully, desperately, achingly, for Scott Taylor, arriving at the far post.

The white dot floated in the tense Wembley air, looming like a gift of destiny, begging to be buried. Six yards out, Taylor timed his jump immaculately, rising above his marker majestically to pound a header towards goal. Suspense gripped a nation as 74,313 people held their breath in the ancient, hallowed stadium, waiting for the ball to land.

Amid a sudden explosion of colour and noise, the ball crashed off the underside of the crossbar and flew dramatically into the net beyond a helpless Tim Flowers. Tranmere had the lead, and their enormous army of fans wept tears of joy.

Against all odds, Rovers held on heroically as Leicester bombarded Murphy’s goal. When Gareth Roberts hacked one last Robbie Savage shot away from danger, the referee blew his whistle, confirming the greatest Tranmere miracle of all-time.

Players dropped to their knees in exhausted euphoria before ambling up the sacred steps to receive their winners’ medals. Kelly hoisted the cup, glistening like the Holy Grail. Aldo paraded it in front of the fans, so gleeful and proud. Martin O’Neill did not know where to put his face.

The following day, 60,000 people gathered at Birkenhead Town Hall for a victory parade. Les Parry gave a rip-roaring speech, while Taylor was granted the Freedom of Wirral. After so many years, and after so much toil, Tranmere Rovers had a major trophy in the cabinet, and the peninsula embraced its premier sports club like never before.

Aldo spent big on transfers in the offseason, preparing Rovers for their maiden voyage in the UEFA Cup. A first round tie against Red Star Belgrade drew a sellout crowd to Prenton Park, and Tranmere delivered an enchanting performance, winning 2-0 before eking out a 1-1 draw in Serbia. Wisla Kraków were dispatched in the second round, setting up a monumental clash with Feyenoord.

Rovers took 4,000 fans to Rotterdam and they watched in stunned disbelief as Taylor cancelled out a Jon Dahl Tomasson goal, dragging the Dutch giants back to Birkenhead on level terms. In the second leg, Tranmere rode their luck for vast portions of the game but managed to keep a clean sheet. A young Jason Koumas whipped a late free-kick into the top corner beneath the Kop, sending the home fans into raptures and the Superwhites sailing into the fourth round, where Roma lay in waiting.

The mercurial Francesco Totti dominated proceedings in the first leg as Rovers lost 1-0 at home. However, the trip to Rome provided the most magical night in the club’s history, with goals from Taylor and Wayne Allison illuminating the Stadio Olimpico and confirming a quarter-final date with the mighty Barcelona.

Little Tranmere Rovers, our hometown pride, welcomed the Catalan colossus for the first leg. Aldo made sure the pitch was nice and bobbly, more fit for Nick Henry’s workmanlike scampering than Pep Guardiola’s assured passing. Nevertheless, beneath the beaming lights of downtown Birkenhead, the game settled into a familiar rhythm as Barça played some exquisite stuff.

Patrick Kluivert put the visitors ahead after sixteen minutes, only for Marc Overmars and Rivaldo to create a three-goal deficit heading back to the Nou Camp, that sacrosanct shrine of football. Barca added three more goals in the second leg, through Phillip Cocu, Frank de Boer and Rivaldo once more, but Stuey Barlow nicked one for Tranmere, a remarkable memento from a dazzling trip to the moon.

Though eventually outclassed by the brilliance of Barcelona, Rovers were spurred domestically by their continental odyssey. Automatic promotion was secured into the Premier League, and a new, global fanbase created a strong budget. Prenton Park was subsequently expanded to 30,000 seats to appease thousands on a season ticket waiting list, and Tranmere became a model of mid-table consistency well into the 2010s.

Leicester, on the other hand, were relegated three times in fourteen years, and somehow ended up with the club physio as manager, a discount bargain store as shirt sponsor, and eighty-five different loan players being used in a three-year span. Fans would lament how, just over a decade ago, they were on the brink of ultimate glory, only for the dream to crumble.

For one day, in that fateful League Cup final, they were on an equal footing with Tranmere Rovers. Now, they’re worlds apart, with bitter memories clouding the horizon.


Buy me a coffee

If you enjoyed this article, please consider leaving a digital tip. I do not believe in ads, subscriptions or paywalls, so please buy me a coffee to show your support. All contributions are greatly appreciated. Thank you.



Subscribe for free to receive all my writing straight to your inbox.

* indicates required

More from Ryan Ferguson

Okan Buruk’s Galatasaray are a thrilling throwback
How a return to basics rebuilt Cimbom.
Read Now
Dodgers usurp Yankees as baseball’s vogue behemoth
How Los Angeles toppled New York as the definitive MLB powerhouse.
Read Now
We are still giving Donald Trump too much credit
On the chronic overestimation of a vacuous vessel.
Read Now
Spare a thought for British baseball fans this October
On the exhausting, exhilarating ordeal of following the playoffs from afar.
Read Now
Aaron Judge is The Guy
Another stupendous season puts #99 among Yankee greats.
Read Now
The A’s, the Expos, and the passage of time
Thoughts from the A’s final game in Oakland.
Read Now
In search of the Kirk Gibson World Series home run ball
Trying to find a missing grail of Los Angeles sports history.
Read Now
Why Ted Williams is frozen in a Scottsdale, Arizona, industrial park
How a baseball legend became a cryonics case study.
Read Now

Leave a comment

Please note, comments must be approved before they are published

Social Proof Experiments