Everton F.C. at Wembley making the F.A. cup final important again.

And if I needed any reminding why I cried in 1989, the hollow feeling before full time on Saturday did the job.

Deep, deep down even before Howard Webb blew time on the 2009 F.A. Cup final, I felt there was no way back.

Chelsea just strangled the life out of us so effectively with the way they powerfully pressed the ball and had the resources to swap Essien for Ballack.

Even in the four added on minutes, when we should have been pumping balls under Cech's chin they managed to keep us in our own box.

By then of course, the heat and a long season was also taking its toll.

Frustratingly, overall, I don't think we performed to our best when it mattered. It's harsh to single out individuals but Osman was poor and Hibbert got off to a nightmare start thanks to a very harsh booking after which he wasn't himself.

I'd like to have seen Rodwell on at half time to get the ball moving across the midfield and make Chelsea's older players sweat in the heat.

Ultimately you can't fault the players. They pulled off a remarkable run beating the Premier league champions and the runners up to get there.

When it mattered most though Chelsea's tiger in the tanks had sharper claws.

I still feel immensely proud of Everton and especially the fans.

Watching us dominate Wembley (again) and make the cup final seem so significant to the nation was amazing.

It was old school cup final day. Hot as hell and exciting. The cup mattered. We were determined to have a good time.

At times it seemed as if a huge section of Liverpool had been supplanted and transported to London. Being outside Wembley from 1pm was my favourite part of the weekend.

Every neutral we met in London wanted us to win. Even the Chelsea fans we met seemed to grudgingly admit we deserved it more.

Seeing some of them troupe away from Wembley unsmiling and not bothered after winning the cup made it hurt even worse.

We'd have had to be dragged out of that ground if we'd won. I'd tried to not let myself think about Phil Neville lifting that cup but secretly I'd seen him do it countless times in my head.

It wasn't to be though. We lost. End of. Excuses about injuries are pointless but we were crying out for a bit of Arteta magic or Jag's steadying influence at times.

This side have used defeat as a springboard before and they must know they are so close to either breaking into the top four or finally lifting some silverware.

We'll be back. Unlike 1995 the foundations are sound for consistency now.

Despite walking away empty handed on Saturday I wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else in the world.