The Swans open their League Cup campaign against Crawley this evening which will bring back memories of that fantastic run to Wembley in 2013, a run that saw us pick up our first major trophy and, of course, spark a superb European run the following season.
That season it was an away win at Crawley and a late winner that took us on another step to the final but we thought we would take a look back at that run as a whole as we build up to the game.
I remember standing in the stands at Wembley, a sea of white and black stretching out before me, and just thinking: “We did it.” The roar from the crowd was deafening, the air thick with a euphoria I’d never felt before. The scoreboard, a gleaming testament to our impossible journey, read Swansea City 5-0 Bradford City. It was a victory, but it was so much more than that. It was the ultimate validation for a club that had clawed its way back from the brink of extinction. That day in February 2013 wasn’t just about lifting a trophy; it was about celebrating the heart, soul, and spirit of our club and everyone who had stood by it through thick and thin.
The 2012/13 season had started with a mix of excitement and uncertainty. We’d had a brilliant debut season in the Premier League under Brendan Rodgers, but he was gone, and in his place was Michael Laudrup. We all knew of his playing career, but what would he do as our manager? The League Cup, often a side thought for top-flight clubs, became our stage. It was where Laudrup’s vision truly took shape, and where our boys became legends.
Round Two: The Start of Something Special
Our cup run began at home against Barnsley. The Liberty Stadium was buzzing with the hope that only a new season can bring. We fielded a solid team, and Danny Graham got us going with a lovely finish. When Barnsley equalised, a little bit of that early-season anxiety crept back in. But this team, this magnificent team, was different. Luke Moore, a player who maybe didn’t get the recognition he deserved, stepped up with two crucial late goals. We won 3-1, and I walked out of the stadium with a feeling in my gut that this could be a memorable season.
Round Three: The Crawley Scare – A Test of True Grit
This was the match that showed me everything I needed to know about this squad’s character. We travelled to Broadfield Stadium to face Crawley Town, and I remember thinking it would be a straightforward win. Michu, our new superstar, scored and we were all feeling pretty comfortable. But this is the cup, isn’t it? The magic of the cup is that no game is ever straightforward.
Crawley fought back. First they equalised, then they took the lead. I honestly thought it was over. We were going to be the punchline, another Premier League team humbled by a lower-league side. The sinking feeling was palpable. But then, something shifted. We didn’t give up. Danny Graham levelled it up for us, and the relief was immense, but the clock was ticking down. Just as I was steeling myself for extra time, a corner came in. Our captain, our leader, the man who embodied everything this club stood for, Garry Monk, rose like a giant and headed it in. The celebration was pure, unadulterated ecstasy. We had survived. We had learned to dig deep, and that win, that last-gasp winner, felt like it was written in the stars.
Round Four: Conquering the Scousers at Anfield
That win against Crawley gave us the belief we needed for the next round: a trip to Anfield to face Liverpool. This was our chance to prove we weren’t just a flash in the pan. And boy, did we prove it. We went there and played them off the park. We were fearless. Chico Flores scored, Nathan Dyer got one, and even when Suárez pulled one back, we never looked rattled. Jonathan de Guzmán sealed the 3-1 victory. I remember feeling so proud of our boys, of the way they controlled the game with our passing, our style. We didn’t just win; we outplayed them at their own ground.
Quarter-Final: Destiny Beckons
The quarter-final against Middlesbrough was a nervy affair. It wasn’t a classic by any means. We huffed and puffed, but their defence was holding firm. The clock was ticking, and it felt like we were destined for a long night. But then, with less than 10 minutes to go, it happened. An own goal. It wasn’t pretty, but it was enough. The ball hitting the back of the net felt like a message from the football gods. We were meant to be in this competition. The semi-final was within touching distance.
Semi-Final: Taking Down the European Champions
The semi-final draw was huge. Chelsea. The European champions. Most of us just wanted a good showing, something to be proud of. But we went to Stamford Bridge for the first leg and did the unthinkable. Michu and Danny Graham, taking advantage of a couple of Chelsea mistakes, scored two goals that sent our away section into a frenzy. We were going home with a 2-0 lead against one of the biggest clubs in the world. I still get goosebumps thinking about it.
The second leg at the Liberty was one of the most tense matches I’ve ever watched. We didn’t score, but we didn’t need to. We held them off. The atmosphere was electric, and every clearance, every tackle, every save was met with a thunderous roar. The whole Eden Hazard and the ballboy incident just added to the drama. It was one of those moments that will forever be a part of our club’s folklore. When the final whistle blew, the relief and joy were immense. We were going to Wembley! It felt like a dream.
The Final: A Day of Unforgettable Glory
Wembley. The final. It was more than a match; it was a pilgrimage. We descended on London in our thousands, a sea of white and black, a truly incredible sight. The final itself? It wasn’t a contest. It was a coronation. From the moment Nathan Dyer opened the scoring, the feeling was one of utter disbelief and pure joy. Dyer was magnificent, Michu was brilliant as always, and Jonathan de Guzmán sealed the win with a brace. 5-0. We won a major trophy.
The final whistle, the celebrations, seeing Garry Monk lift the trophy, all of it is burned into my memory. It wasn’t just a victory for that team, it was a victory for our club, for the fans who had suffered through the dark days, for the people who had fought to keep the club alive. That day, a team from South Wales, built on a philosophy of beautiful, passing football, had conquered England. I was there, and I’ll never, ever forget it.
