Sheffield United will face Sunderland in their fifth playoff final this Saturday. Until now, they’ve lost all four of their previous attempts. I’ve experienced each one of those matches.
1997, Crystal Palace 1-0 Sheffield United, Wembley: The Painful Memory
This was technically United’s second encounter with playoff disappointment; they lost a relegation playoff to Bristol City in 1988. However, by the mid-1990s, the format had evolved, especially after moving finals to Wembley in 1990.
Missing out on the 1993 FA Cup semi-finals, my first visit to Wembley felt monumental. I remember cramming into a rented minibus, bumping up the M1, adorned with flags and makeshift emblems on red tape as we cheered.
Hope was palpable. United had defeated Crystal Palace 1-0 at Selhurst Park in December, and then won 3-0 at Bramall Lane just before the final. We reached Wembley before the team, had a moment to paint our faces—though not mine, as I was 16—and kicked a ball around under the towers before letting loose with red and white balloons.
That was probably the highlight. My memory hints we barely threatened their goal. In the end, David Hopkin nearly curled one in during the dying moments. I prefer not to think about it too much.
Returning home was a blur. It felt like we spent ages winding out of Wembley, and I distinctly recall someone—likely my dad—suggesting we had to “outlast” the Palace fans in comfort.
It was a significant day, but United really didn’t show up. That, it seems, has been a recurring theme.
2003, Wolves 3-0 Sheffield United, Millennium Stadium: The True Pain
Going into the 2003 season, there was once again hope. Known as the “Triple Assault” season at Bramall Lane, United finished third behind solid teams like Portsmouth and Leicester. I remember a thrilling moment when David Seaman made a remarkable save at Old Trafford, leading to a Carling Cup semi-final against Liverpool.
The playoffs had their own drama, culminating in a memorable 4-3 semi-final victory over Nottingham Forest.
As a family, we made a weekend of it in South Wales. I went from London that day. I was now 22 and had left the painted face behind, but I was still with family—so a good time all around.
But in stark contrast to the misery of 1997, this time it started poorly: Wolves scored six minutes in and led 3-0 at halftime. It was a crushing sight watching the players deflate following that second goal. After a season filled with resilience and unlikely wins, it became evident: “We can’t go through this again.” And indeed, we didn’t. Yet, I still sometimes wonder what could have happened if Michael Brown had converted a penalty early in the second half.
2009, Burnley 1-0 Sheffield United, Wembley: The One I Forget
At this point, I’m fairly certain hope was absent. Six years after that tumultuous era, Warnock was gone, and the club entered a rough period before Kevin Blackwell stepped in.
Reflecting on that final season, it’s surprising United even made the playoffs at all. I can hardly believe they were in contention for an automatic spot until the very last game. The strategy changed, and they faced and dispatched Preston in the semi-finals with relative ease.
Yet, as Wembley loomed, an odd sense of destiny crept in.
One odd memory from that final was the bizarre floating club crest curtains that hung over the pitch. They somehow created a dreamy atmosphere, though in retrospect it felt unsettling.
The match? Well, Wade Elliott scored a stunning goal after just 13 minutes, and that pretty much set the tone—nothing else really happened. Honestly, it’s so forgettable that even my family can’t recall who was there with us, but my brother and I just sank further into despondency as the inevitable played out. It felt like a dull trauma, one of many.
2012, Huddersfield 0-0 Sheffield United; Huddersfield won 8-7 on penalties at Wembley: The Day Steve Simonsen Missed
The earlier finals had a sort of bleakness to them, embodying a cruel cycle of hope and despair. The team, patched together, gave an impression of being utterly lost, as if playing under a bright sky when the reality was anything but.
On game day, most of my family filled my small flat in North London—I must have blocked that memory out.
In yet another frustrating match, we saw 90 minutes tick by without a goal—90 minutes just like in previous years. Neil Collins even scored the first United goal at Wembley since 1993, but that only paved the way for fresh heartbreak.
Though Huddersfield missed their first three penalties, somehow United still lost 8-7 after Steve Simonsen blasted his shot into oblivion. That penalty was so wild it probably made its way into orbit, and with that impressive miss, United found themselves relegated to League One.
It would take four long years before Chris Wilder finally helped the club regain some semblance of hope.
This leads us back to Saturday. It’s a different kind of feeling this time, especially as I sift through old photos; I realize this will be the first playoff final since my father passed away. So, it’s more of a quick trip this time. My brother and I will take the M1, no frills, no flags—but still, there’s that familiar sensation of anxious anticipation, as we all hope this could finally be our year.
