Crystal Palace's journey in the FA Cup and European competitions is a dreamlike narrative; if only you had witnessed it firsthand.

We did it, Dad.

You know, there's still a song I can't perform at Palace. I attempt to sing along each time, but the lyrics elude me. A slight lump appears in my throat, and I can only mime the tune without sound.

The words to that song go:

When I was a young boy, my father said to me,
'Listen here, my son: you're CPFC.'
Here we are, you know us by our noise,
The pride of south London, the famous Palace boys.

Actually, I can perform the latter portion of it, most of the time, but the initial part? Absolutely not. It completely halts me.

Almost six years have passed since my father's death, occurring precisely at the onset of the COVID lockdown, a time when everything irrevocably shifted.

I wrote before how my love for sport, my work, my Palace experiences all had a big impact on me in the year after his passing.

Everyone likely experiences grief differently, but I hadn't anticipated that one of life's most joyful occasions, a dream realized, would be accompanied by such profound sorrow.

MORE: How Palace stunned Man City to win FA Cup final

We did it, Dad.

Our modest Crystal Palace secured the FA Cup. This marks our inaugural major title following 120 years. We've earned a spot in European competition. It was a dream come true. Still, you weren't present to witness it.

You dedicate your entire existence observing other teams hoist trophies, witnessing their supporters' elation, the unrestrained joy, the spectacle, all while fantasizing about experiencing that yourself, someday.

Which player will be weeping on the field? Who will be celebrating with the supporters? Who gets to hoist the trophy? Then, it strikes your team, and you find it hard to accept it's unfolding before your eyes.

You won't believe half of this when I tell you, either, but here goes. I'll run it back for you.

The start of the historic 2024/25 season, I missed the first four months as Katherine and I were travelling across Canada. I know you wouldn't believe I'd go that long without Palace, but I watched every match regardless of the silly hours kickoffs in the morning. But in truth, I didn't miss much. Our manager, Oliver Glasner, hit a rocky patch early in the season: we went eight league games without a win — our worst ever start to a Premier League campaign.

However, upon my return before the holidays, developments began to take shape; the indicators of advancement were evident. It's possible the players held off until my arrival to initiate momentum, but one could feel Glasner was constructing something significant — which included a timely Christmas bonus of a 3-1 victory on the road against Brighton.

As the new year commenced, the FA Cup kicked off. It's a tournament we cherished. In prior years, when our team wasn't performing well, we'd watch the draw collectively, hoping for a prominent Premier League opponent or the most unexpected visiting team. I'd then implore you to accompany me to that match, marking it off our shared list. Our memorable journey started with a home game against Stockport County, where we secured a 1-0 victory with our characteristic tendency to make things difficult. A subsequent 2-0 away win against Doncaster ensued, leading up to the crucial match: Millwall at home, with a quarterfinal spot at stake. I was unable to attend that game due to a temporary vision impairment (a tale for another time), but we triumphed 3-1. You would have thoroughly enjoyed it.

I cleared a late fitness check ahead of our quarterfinal match at Fulham. Craven Cottage was a place we always had to go back then. If we won this match, we'd advance to Wembley. We dominated them, securing a 3-0 win; supporters in the concourse began to feel this was our season. With our focus entirely on a semifinal clash with Aston Villa, our league performance suffered, apart from a 2-1 victory against Brighton, completing the season's sweep, naturally.

Wembley trips invariably stir up excitement, anticipation, and considerable nerves, yet there was no need for worry considering our performance. A convincing 3-0 victory against Villa secured our passage back to confront Pep Guardiola's Manchester City on May 17.

That morning mirrored our 2016 FA Cup final against Manchester United: an unparalleled level of excitement, anticipation, and nerves, prompting reflection on loved ones absent from the world's oldest cup final at Wembley. Nan was absent in 2016; you were absent in 2025. The timing of your next trophy win, if one comes at all, is uncertain. This thought crosses my mind: what if next time I don't even have Mum here to go with? We absolutely must succeed this time.

My Crystal Palace. FA Cup winners. A trophy secured. A European tour awaits. We actually did it. Tears of happiness. An unparalleled feeling and one of the finest days of my existence! ❤️💙 #cpfc pic.twitter.com/Ff1t99hfNp

— Dan Gibbs (@dan_gibbsyy) May 18, 2025

Heading to north-west London, where red and blue dominate the scenery. My mother and I shared supportive messages from our friends and family, all wishing us well. It seemed as though the entire nation was backing us to defeat City. My only response to those messages was: "It's our time."

We had a brief beer with your good friend Colin and his partner Julie prior to the game's start. This served as a distraction for an hour, allowing us to momentarily disregard the significance of the impending event. As we parted ways with them, emotions ran high, and we all concurred: "Let's do it for Dad."

It felt like our moment. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I had a certainty we wouldn't be defeated in that match. The conviction Glasner instilled in the squad and the supporters. The skill present within our roster. The individuals capable of changing the game. The personalities in the locker room. Of course, Manchester City remained our opponent, and we'd certainly require fortune and every other bit of good fortune, but we were destined to achieve something historic. And that frustration that you won't be there to witness it is something I can't let go of.

With sixteen minutes played, a well-executed team play saw Daniel Munoz deliver a cross, and Eberechi Eze, our competition's standout player, slotted the ball into the bottom-left corner from the edge of the penalty area. This sparked utter chaos among the spectators. I held onto Mum, shielding her from the surging crowd descending the stairs. We were in disbelief at having secured such an early advantage.

Barely 15 minutes later and City have a penalty. We know how this story goes, right? Wrong. Dean Henderson saves the spot-kick. The noise and the roar is even louder than the goal. These are the moments when you start to think: it really is our time.

With thirty minutes remaining, we managed another goal. I'm not sure I can handle many more of these frustrating headloss moments. My voice is beginning to fail. VAR disallowed this goal, and we all know those last thirty minutes will be a desperate defensive struggle, praying we can prevent City's predictable late equalizer.

The added time is nearly up, with only 10 minutes remaining on the clock. The crowd's groan is to be expected, but I'd braced myself for it. Naturally, those felt like the longest 10 minutes of my existence, yet we were so close to the end.

And then. Jeremy Doku's shot misses the target at the 10-minute mark, and following the subsequent goal kick, the referee signals the end of the match. We've achieved it. It's hard to fathom that this moment has finally arrived. All around, supporters are weeping, embracing one another, and leaping with joy; some slump into their chairs, stunned. I can no longer suppress my emotions. I turned to my right and embraced Mum with all my might. I hug Clive, a devoted Palace supporter for over five decades, who accompanied you during the club's two previous FA Cup final losses. His eyes are glistening with tears. He has finally witnessed our victory.

As "Glad All Over" blares from the speakers, I raise your scarf to my neck and belt out the tune we've sung countless times throughout the years, with more volume and pride than I've ever sung anything. That second "take me away" in the song impacted me profoundly. I dab my eyes with your scarf while observing my surroundings, attempting to absorb the entire experience.

Fans of all ages are present, many with joyful expressions and others with tear-filled eyes. Children wave their flags and play with balloons, some too young to grasp that this isn't a typical outing for The Palace. Fathers and sons embrace, recognizing the significance of this occasion. Elderly supporters in their seventies and eighties, though weary, understand that their lifelong dedication to the club, through triumphs and struggles, has culminated in this rewarding moment. They've witnessed Palace secure a trophy.

Reflecting on the last game you attended, which was Palace's 1-0 victory against Watford on March 7, 2020, Joel Ward is the sole remaining player from that lineup. He's now earned a fitting anthem after so long:

When Joel, went up, to lift the FA Cup, we were there!

I hope you, Nan, along with all the supporters who've backed the club throughout the years, could have witnessed that moment. It would have been fitting for you to see that aspiration fulfilled.

Numerous supporters have remarkable accounts from that night of triumph. My priority was ensuring Mum's safe return, then settling in to absorb it all. Reaching home near 10 p.m., I prepared a pizza, poured a beer, and toasted you, Dad, before viewing the game once more. I received countless messages from friends, relatives, and all your acquaintances, offering congratulations as though I'd been part of the starting lineup! The outpouring of affection and encouragement was immense, given how much that outcome signified and the difficulty of experiencing it without your presence.

The period following that event is now indistinct. I absorbed all available information and responses concerning that day. When friends inquired about the experience that summer, after our victory, my only recourse was to smile. I continued to smile, and I still do. Articulating its significance is challenging.

Dynamo Kyiv (A) in Lublin. The first of hopefully many European trips! #19Games #PositiveEmotions #cpfc pic.twitter.com/y3lDLjGXIS

— Dan Gibbs (@dan_gibbsyy) October 3, 2025

Of course, we now had Europe to prepare for, and a Community Shield.

How often have we seen the season's first match featuring teams such as Arsenal, United, Liverpool, and Chelsea? We found ourselves kicking off the season against Liverpool, heading to Wembley once more... And securing another trophy.

A European tour was on the horizon, the kind of trip we'd consistently discussed and envisioned. It kicked off in classic Palace style; only we could be demoted from a European competition without playing a single match. However, that's a narrative for a different occasion.

Naturally, it was only fitting that Palace's inaugural European excursion would occur near a conflict zone, with their aircraft touching down on a runway flanked by tanks and air defense installations.

Throughout the years, you've witnessed supporters in town squares, belting out anthems, adorning pubs with their banners, and accompanying their team across the continent. Now, the spotlight is on us.

The experience surpassed all my expectations. My journey to Lublin, Poland, is an unforgettable memory. We joyfully sang about Palace's 19-game undefeated streak, our invincibility, our FA Cup victory, and our European qualification. You truly would have loved witnessing it.

As I depart for Strasbourg for our next European escapade, I'm still grappling with the reality of undertaking this journey without you, and it's painful. This was a shared aspiration, and proceeding without you feels incorrect and unjust. 

I always anticipated our moment in the spotlight: winning a trophy, embarking on that European journey... Yet, I never for a moment thought you wouldn't be present to share it.

But I'll clutch your scarf firmly, raise it high in every city I go to, and perhaps, eventually, I'll be able to properly sing those 17 words again:

When I was a young boy, my father said to me,
'Listen here, my son: you're CPFC.'