Sadly, a set of articles about QPR at Wembley must currently end in 1986, with perhaps the greatest let-down in the history of the club. The infamous 3-0 defeat to Oxford United…

The Game

Oxford United 3 Queens Park Rangers 0, League Cup Final, Sunday April 20, 1986

QPR's last trip to Wembley, back in 1986, ended in one of the club's darkest hours as the hotly tipped R's essentially failed to turn up against a struggling Oxford United side that was said, before the final, to be little more than cannon fodder.

The R's had choked up notable scalps during one of the most difficult runs to a cup final they could ever have wished for. Lower league Hull City had been seen off relatively easily in the early rounds — Rangers winning 8-1 on aggregate — and Nottingham Forest, after a false start due to floodlight failure, were beaten 3-1 at Loftus Road. The R's had won 1-0 at Vicarage Road against a Watford side with John Barnes in midfield in between those matches.

In the quarter finals a 1-1 draw with Chelsea at Loftus Road set up a second match at Stamford Bridge which went all the way to extra time on a mudbath pitch before the R's famously triumphed 2-0 with a headed goal from a young Alan McDonald, and a freakish lob from the halfway line by Michael Robinson.

Liverpool, the dominant force throughout the 1980s, looked impossible semi-final opponents and although Terry Fenwick's first half header at Loftus Road gave the R's a 1-0 first leg lead, few thought that would be enough going to Anfield to face a side which had won the trophy in 1981, 1982, 1983 and 1984.

Remarkably Kenny Dalglish's side contrived to score two own goals through Ronnie Whelan and Gary Gillespie to equalise Steve McMahon and Craig Johnston. Paul Barron saved a first half penalty from Jan Molby into the bargain.

Having come through so much, Oxford — who would survive relegation from the First Division by a single point that season and go down anyway a year later — seemed like a relative pushover.

But something wasn't right about QPR. This was the first season under the management of Jim Smith, who'd moved to Loftus Road from Oxford the previous summer. Smith has openly admitted since he was delighted to see his Oxford team lift the trophy, and was bantering with their players in the tunnel before the game. QPR striker John Byrne has spoken about the decision to go and see a match at Tottenham the day before as a squad, leaving them feeling tired and heavy legged as a factor. Martin Allen says a month of build up, with television cameras following the team everywhere, disrupted the routine.

Martin Percival, writing for http://www.indyrs.co.uk/2014/05/28-years-later-the-milk-cup-nightmare-lives-on/> R's this week, says the result cost the club a takeover by Guinness millionaire Ernest Saunders, who left the director's box early in disgust, and was caused by an overdose of sleeping pills to settle the players' nerves before the match.

Whatever the reason, a fine QPR team which beat Chelsea 6-0 and won 4-1 at Leicester just before the final, failed to show on the day and were roundly, deservedly thrashed by a free flowing Oxford side.

In the end the only surprise was it took Oxford as long to score as it did. Five minutes before half time Trevor Hebberd was played through on goal in the left channel. Racing towards goal he seemed certain to strike the ball on his left foot, but instead checked back inside onto his right, selling Alan McDonald the wrong way in the process. The trickery wasn't over there either — goalkeeper Paul Barron was no doubt expecting the conventional bending shot across him into the far corner, but Hebberd instead caught the keeper napping with a low drilled shot into the near post for the opening goal. A defensive shambles, but a proud moment for Hebberd who'd previously played every single round of the 1978/79 League Cup while with Southampton only to be dropped for the Wembley final.

Any hope that half time would bring salvation for Rangers was quickly extinguished when the U's doubled their lead seven minutes into the second half. Hebberd was again involved, breaking at speed on the counter attack and combining well with Republic of Ireland midfielder Ray Houghton. Hebbered advanced into the area unchallenged and then found Houghton similarly unmarked and he finished with aplomb to double the lead.

Houghton had trained with QPR before the start fo the season and been expected to sign for the R's before moving to Oxford instead. The nightmare was very, very real by this stage and violence started to break out on the terraces in the QPR end as realisation dawned on 40,000 expectant Rangers fans.

And if the QPR defence had been all at sea for the first two goals well, as the saying goes, you aint seen nothing yet. Five minutes from time Oxford attacked down the right flank this time with John Aldridge and although his shot, having been afforded acres of space in the area, was saved by Barron, Jeremy Charles was on hand to tap in the rebound from close range. Charles, nephew of the great John Charles, had made just a dozen appearances during a two year spell with QPR between 1983 and 1985. The implosion was complete.

This has become the game which shall never speak its name among QPR fans. Pub discussions are quickly shut down. Many refuse to acknowledge it even happened. My own grandfather, father and aunt who were all there that day would simply say "we don't talk about that" whenever I asked them about it as a child. To this day my aunt, the last surviving Whittingham who attended, will still only shake her head, look off into the distance and say "it was awful Clive." The souvenir flat cap bought on Wembley Way by my old Grandad Tom was only ever used for gardening.

QPR: Barron, McDonald, Dawes, Neill, Wicks, Fenwick, Allen (Rosenior), Robinson, James, Bannister, Byrne

Oxford: Judge, Briggs, Shotton, Langan, Phillips, Trewick, Brock, Charles, Hebberd, Houghton, Aldridge

Goals: Hebberd 40, Houghton 52, Charles 86

Attendance: 90,396

The Players

Manager Jim Smith, infamously, said: "Talking of proud moments, when I led QPR out at Wembley for the 1986 Milk Cup Final, I felt immensely proud that my team had made it — Oxford not QPR. We were in the tunnel for an age before the game and there was more banter between me and the Oxford lads than my current team — I knew them a lot better than my own lads. I couldn’t really lose that day. People say I looked dejected and shell-shocked, but the reality was that my team had won the Cup, with the greatest respect to Maurice Evans and I couldn’t celebrate with them, for obvious reasons. It was a bit like getting married and divorced all in one day.”

Striker John Byrne told the Open All R's Podcast: "Obviously I'm really proud that we got to the final, but on the day it was such a disappointment it's one you try not to think about. Not just getting beaten, the way we got beaten, we never turned up on the day. That's the biggest disappointment because if we had we'd have been more than a match for Oxford.

Midfielder Martin Allen told the Fulham Chronicle: You could say we froze, but with hindsight, Sir Alex Ferguson always said play the game rather than the occasion. For a month before the game, the media seemed to be with us the whole time. There were trips up the West End to get suits and parties being organised. There were far too many extras to our normal routine. It was very quiet in the dressing room afterwards. We just hadn't played, it was an empty feeling. Jim Smith just told us to get showered and get out of there. It only hit home when we got back to the Royal Lancaster Hotel and saw the effect it had had on our families. I had tears in my eyes. It's taken a long time get over it, but even talking about it now is upsetting. It remains a massive disappointment in my life, and it's still quite upsetting now to be honest.”

Assistant manager Frank Sibley told the Fulham Chronicle: "I still don't understand 1986. It would have been difficult to play poorer. It was all the more baffling considering we had beaten Oxford earlier in the season, and were just off the back of a 6-0 win over Chelsea and 4-1 against Leicester."

The Fans

Read the full message board thread of memories of supporters who were there on the day by clicking here, or sample a selection of horror stories below.

Juzzie: I went to every game in that Milk Cup campaign except Hull away. Things I remember were the floodlights failing before the Forest game and it having to be re-arranged, there being bloody Chelsea everywhere at LR in the quarter final. The replay at Stamford Bridge was memorable for McDonald's header and Robinson's long range goal over their stricken goalie and all the Chelsea players moaning that Bannister was offside even though he was lying flat-out on the ground next to their goalie when it was clear to everyone even with the rules then that he could not in anyway have been interfering with Robinson's shot from just inside the half. It was brilliant seeing them all bitching.

Semi-final against Liverpool was a tight affair with us winning the first leg 1-0 at Loftus Road.

Liverpool were still favourites being the kings of two-legged cup games and not lost a Milk Cup round in over three seasons.

Still, that didn't deter my brother and I both taking the afternoon off work to get on the supporters club train. I remember the train getting stoned on the way into Lime Street and a similar welcome as we went to the ground on the loads of buses.

Everyone knows the outcome of the game and the return journey was worse, those Scousers are not good losers. We had to pull the blinds down over the windows as the train was duly stoned on the way out of the station, the window next to where my brother was sitting got broken. Home by 3am but well worth it. Wemberleeeee here we come.

I think I managed to get about seven tickets and I remember my dad saying "where are these cunts on a Saturday afternoon?!"

As the game slipped away from us it kicked off not far from us and I think it was Notting Hill and Shepherd's Bush R's fighting each other. That's how bad the game was.

Never mind, I thought, we'll be back soon.........

Chelsea

King Stan: I was photographing pitch side for this one. Rangers were heavy favourites going into the game after their previous exploits and you could tell from the players' attitude during pre cup final training that they thought the hard work had already been done. Jim Smith was not a popular manager, he was an arrogant showman and few players from his previous clubs had much of a good word to say about him. He had talked himself up big to the media the week of the final and his ego had rubbed off onto the players but he had also managed to rub up Oxford. I had a bad feeling about this game and sure enough Rangers took Smith's ego out onto the pitch that afternoon and left their ability back in West London. Oxford had been fired up and walked the game with ease. I refused to cover Oxford attack and sat not doing very much wishing I was more professional. After a half- hearted run around with the victorious and ever so slightly smug Oxford team I stood and watched the R's do a miserable lap of disgrace to a chorus of boo's and jeer's as they were showered with plastic cups, beer, tea and dubious looking yellow liquid.

NGB QPR: The Cup run started for me at Boothferry Park. I had finished uni at Hull that summer but hung around there for a few months as a load of mates were still there - signed on for a bit (an 80s dole queue in Hull - shudder...), made a bit of cash in hand dj'ing, one of the lads who used to frequent the club I played at worked at the dole office and one day when I was in the queue shouted over to compliment me on my set the previous Saturday - d'oh.

Anyway the Rs away support back then wasn't a patch on what it is now. Having won the home leg v Hull 3-0, it was understandable that not many hoops made the long trek up north on a wet autumnal midweek night for a meaningless second leg. I walked there. At half time I counted how many fans we had there - the figure has always stuck with me - 131. I thought all things considered that was pretty respectable (are you reading Fulham?). Plus we won that leg 5-1.

Was chuffed with a win at Watford (who at that point were unbeaten at home in the League); and I'd moved back to London by the time of the two Forest games (the first aborted after the lights went out; the second a late, late show win) - Forest were still in their Cloughie pomp at the time so another good scalp.

Ken Bates spoke a lot of crap about our plastic pitch in the build up to the QF, so I was always chuffed that we won the tie in a replay on a mudbath at the Bridge. Chelsea everywhere at the home match, and a half full away end at the second game, but I didn't care - just made beating them all the sweeter.

The home leg v Liverpool I recall for (a) being dull; and (b) a gate of only 15k, as this was a then rare 'live on TV' game. My mum recorded it and when I watched it through I could clearly see myself in the Paddock (which was standing at the time), still the only time I've seen myself on TV at a Rangers game.. We did feel 1-0 gave us a chance.

The away leg is an alcohol-induced blur, but I remember the celebrations at the end being crazy - Steve Wicks seemed to spend about half an hour being mobbed down at the front. The scousers were totally shellshocked. One of our travelling party had a scouse mate who after the game shepherded us to an Evertonian pub that was having a lock-in, and the celebrations continued for hours (I can't recall who the unfortunate designated driver was).

Reading all that, those few months should have been a highlight of my 40 years following Rangers - but thanks to the mind-numbingly awful Final, they just can't be. All I remember of that match is a group of us standing for ages on the terraces at a rapidly emptying Wembley in disbelief - back to the Bush, and instead of the pub we spent a miserable half an hour in Spud-u-Like then all drifted off home. The lowest I've EVER felt at a game.

Dave Barton: I can still remember aspects of that 1986 final clearly. The sheer excitement of the build-up was electric. I had butterflies in my stomach for about a month before hand and annoyed all my school mates by constantly singing “When Tel, goes up to lift the Milk Cup I’ll be there”.

On the day of the final I just wanted to get to Wembley. We stopped for a few drinks in The Sun pub on Askew Road which was open long before it should have been and was a real party atmosphere. I had no interest in joining in, I just wanted to get to Wembley, see the twin towers and celebrate the inevitable victory.

We got to the stadium earlier than we usually got to a match, I remember my Dads mate wishing an Oxford fan good luck before laughing saying “They’ll need it, we’ll slaughter these”. I watched the pro-celebrity match beforehand where if memory serves Jimmy Tarbuck and David Frost both played for QPR whilst a giant inflatable bottle of milk sat in the centre circle. You can keep your fireworks and dancing girls, that was pre match entertainment.

When the teams came out on the pitch the roar of the crowd and flags being waved was some sight, think that Leeds game when we won the league and times it by a hundred. It was a sea of blue and white and loads of banners, one that sticks out said “We made Chelsea Neil, we made Liverpool Byrne and We’re sending Oxford down the Bannister”. Even now that play on words still makes me laugh.

The game itself remains a blur, I’ve never watched it back since and it still feels surreal that we were that bad on the day. We stayed to watch Oxford get the trophy like some deranged masochist who felt that the worse they felt in that moment the better the payoff for us further down the line. As I say I’m still waiting.

After the match walking back to get the train then back to The Sun I don’t think anyone spoke a word. I’d never seen my Dad so down and quiet it was very unsettling. The Sun was subject to the old licencing hours so was supposed to be shut on a Sunday afternoon, the landlord Hugo, a big fella from Ireland, held a lock in for everyone. The pub was full of blue and white balloons, QPR shirts on everyone, flags and scarfs on the floor; it was the most colourful wake anyone had ever been to.

I couldn’t handle the disappointment of it all and as Hugo laid on a buffet I went into the garden to play football with his son. We tried to recreate the game and quite disgracefully I told my mate Carl to be Trevor Hebberd and I’d be Terry Fenwick, when he got the ball I jumped in with the hardest two footed leg breaker I could on the poor boy that he thankfully jumped out of meaning I destroyed a bin instead with my anger.
We carried on playing then a weird thing happened and has lived with me ever since. The pub was getting noisy and we could hear singing, in we went to see what was going on and it was party time. QPR fans were singing, laughing and dancing on the tables. My Nan was at the bar singing songs about Rodney Marsh and a policemen came in to ask Hugo to try and keep the noise down as the pub is supposed to be shut, As the policeman left I remember him saying to his mate “imagine what it would have been like if they won”.

I couldn’t understand why everyone was so happy after such a crushing soul destroying day. I’ve since found that alcohol is one of the key reasons but it also showed a real spirit that QPR fans have. We’re not going to face defeat with anger and smash the pub up, we’re going to take it on the chin, enjoy ourselves and come back stronger.

Back then if I had a bucket list the main things I wanted to see was QPR win the first division championship and QPR to win a major cup final. I’m still waiting for the last one but we are now potentially one game away from making that a reality.

Dan Van Dyke: I was 11 at the time and living in North Shields near Newcastle. I remember listening to the semi-final with my dad on the radio and getting excited that we'd beaten Liverpool and he let me stay up to watch the second leg highlights. As for the day itself I'd been invited to the eleventh birthday party of Erica Salen, a Swedish girl who was friends with my cousin and I really fancied her so I went to her party rather than watch the final. My mam taped it for me and I was gonna do a 'Likely Lads' and watch it when I got back in 'as if live'. To make up for this treachery, I wore a blue and white hooped jumper and white jeans to the party. I was the DJ at the party and had to play A-Ha all the time as I was the only boy there. On one occasion I put on the single I'd brought which was 'Look Away' by Big Country. The girls didn't like that.

When my mam came to pick me up, I was too nervous and excited to pretend that the match hadn't been played, so I asked her for a hint and she looked glum and said we'd lost 3-0. I thought she was confused or taking the piss so I badgered her and she kept telling me that was the score. I was totally fucking gutted and blamed myself as we would have won if I hadn't been disloyal and gone to a girl's party. I told all my mates at school that I watched it but I actually burned the tape and got wrong for wasting a new tape. I never snogged Erica and she moved back to Sweden. I probably could have got at least outside tops as well and had to wait far too many years for not having the confidence at her party. But I did become a massive fan of Big Country and to this day believe that my actions can have an impact on a football match over 300 miles away.

That was quite cathartic as I have never admitted to anyone outside my family that I didn't watch that match.

MonaHoop: After this awful game I was among a small number of QPR conspiracy theorists who cast doubts on the manager Jim 'The Bald Eagle' Smith. He had success previously with Oxford, he continued to talk them up when he was with us and so having got us to Wembley, imagine to his delight, his beloved Oxford Utd should be the R's opponents in the final. I'm sure he had secretly orchestrated some kind of curse on the R's to let little Oxford whip us a good 'un that fateful day. I never liked him anyway and was glad to see the morosed voiced potato head leave to ironically have two more stabs at management at his 'baby' Oxford Utd.

Anyway I felt pretty confident we would win this one. I went with my long suffering girlfriend who as it so happens is now my long suffering wife. There was I waxing lyrical to her about the team who entered this final on a great run (but I was still cautious about Smith). She tried to look interested.

In the tatty,tired old lady that was Wembley Stadium I thought the atmosphere a little muted. By the time Oxford scored their 3rd the QPR crowd was totally mute if not stunned by what we were witnessing. A decent team simply looked disinterested. Oxford would never meet easier opposition all season. If this game were played over a week we would never have scored still. What went wrong?? I remember a loud Scottish R behind us venting his spleen at the team screaming about how he had travelled down from Inverness only to witness what he described as a 'scabby shower of shite'. I somewhat felt sorry for him and a crowd from Limerick who at least tried smiling through this debacle.

In 1982 I was proud of our teams cup final performance in a gallant defeat. Four years later I was gutted and felt hollow. On the tube back a crowd of Mackems were on the train. They had seen their lot play Arsenal and judging from their jollity they may have seen their team win at Highbury. They of course laid into us crestfallen R's with all kinds of banter but no violence. In fact I don't recall seeing any fights or aggro which others on here appear to have witnessed.

A thoroughly terrible day which still sticks long in the memory. Bloody Smith??!!

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Mr Sheen: I was actually at college in Oxford at the time which made it even more painful and embarrassing. I managed to persuade an Everton supporting friend with a car to drive a few of us to Watford, which was the first time I saw us beat them in about 10 games. I came down for the home game against Chelsea but watched the replay and the two Liverpool games on telly. I couldn't bear to watch the second leg in the college TV room in front of everyone so saw it in my kitchen on an old portable. I was so shocked after I literally couldn't speak for about half an hour afterwards. That's never happened before or since.

The other semi was delayed by postponements by about three weeks - one of the benefits of plastic. On the day of the second leg, my parents took me for a cream tea in the Randolph hotel for the one and only time and my dad had fun embarrassing me by eating jam off his knife. Who should we pass on the way out but the Villa on the way in for their meal. To my excitement I was face to face with Simon Stainrod and managed to blurt out some encouragement. Not that it did any good.

I won't say anything about the game except that I was too ashamed and depressed to go back to Oxford for four or five days, which was a bit stupid with finals coming up. A sad postscript was a couple of weeks later when I was in the Everton end of the Manor ground for the penultimate game of the season. A small band of Everton fans were half heartedly trying to cheer their team to the title. I was screaming at them to win and sent Oxford down. No fucking luck that night either. Lineker missed a stack of chances and Les Taylor scored for them from outside the box in the 88th minute. Double bollocks.

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Sexton: I stood at The Shed End for Chelsea away. I was fairly broke at the time and didn't fancy paying to sit down as my mates did, so I stood alone in the pouring rain.

I didn't seriously expect us to beat Liverpool in the semi but had to show some bravado as my then girlfriend (now Mrs S) was a diehard fan. I couldn't believe what I saw. 2 own goals and we were through. One bottle of wine already down, opened another and suffered the next morning. Worth it though.

We were red-hot favourites for the final but we were simply awful. No creativity whatsoever. Somebody was injured - Fillery? I've haven't watched a single second again. After Liverpool beating Wolves with 15 minutes to go, the biggest disappointment in all my time watching the R's.

What made it especially annoying was Ray Houghton's performance. He had been training with us pre-season and it was expected to be a formality that he signed but he went to Oxford instead.

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Brian Williams' Beard: I remember the Chelsea game, particularly Robinson's goal from the halfway line, and getting back to The Greyhound in time to see the highlights on TV.

I remember us taking over a pub close to Anfield, a mate getting so drunk he climbed behind the fruit machine and couldn't get out and then the same guy being arrested before kick-off. I remember Liverpool scoring four times, but luckily two being for us, the second spinning in in slow motion and it taking what seemed like an age before we realised we'd scored. I remember the "We did it mum" banner.

I remember the papers predicting an R`s win, the walk to Wembley, the blue hair, Steve O`s big French flag but I can't remember a single thing about the match. I know the score but I couldn't tell you the scorers or describe any of the goals. It's all been blotted out.

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Nov77: Getting beaten is one thing, but we didn't even turn up. Thankfully I can remember very little about it. I deliberately didn't watch any highlights or reruns of it since. Just a total waste of time - the most abject performance I've ever witnessed. Just had an empty feeling afterwards.

Beating Chelsea in the quarter and Liverpool in the semi just made it all the harder to take. I was at Stamford Bridge the night we won there with Macca's header and Robinson from the half way line. Went to the home leg v Liverpool but didn't make the away - still can't believe they scored all four goals that night and we got a draw to take us through.

KerryE: I moved heaven and earth to get there, I had severe food poisoning/minor dysentery at the time. The only time we've ever been favourites for anything. Why do we bother sometimes…

The Twitter @loftforwords

The Pictures — Action Images

Photo: Action Images

TacticalR added 17:17 - May 23 Thanks...I think! I heard John Byrne's interview on Open All Rs and it was pretty strange what he said about the players feeling 'wrong' the whole day. A big difference between then and now was that there were no forums, so no group therapy was available. You just had to go home and lick your wounds, which is probably why so many of us have blotted that dark day from our minds.

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