Although I turned the match off at half time, fearing embarrassment, I obviously wasn't as careless as the depressed Liverpool fan who took his own life during the matches interval.
At the time of the final I had been struck down with illness; a combination of unhealthy university life and insomnia that made me housebound and restricted mainly to my bed. So I had my small twelve inch television in my line of sight and a nasty feeling in my gut that refused to disappear.
As Liverpool were dominated in the first half I wondered why I was bothering to watch what I would be ridiculed for in the years to come. I imagined Liverpool losing by five goals and upwards, which in theory made sense due to their disastrous league campaign that year. They had seemed lucky to reach the final in the first place.
I put on a dvd in an attempt to sleep off my illness, but alas it was not to be. Although I lived in the middle Aberystwyth, on the coast of Wales, there was a strong Welsh contingent who followed Liverpool over all of the other English teams.
Only someone who lives or has lived in Wales would ever understand their philosophy of supporting the Anfield outfit, yet it was this Welsh collection of Kop fans that had filled out the welsh pub opposite my house.
They awoke me with a startle as they erupted into cheers, Liverpool evidently having clawed a goal back.
I quickly switched my tv back to the action and saw the replay, and a beautifully positioned header from Steven Gerrard.
However my first feeling was that it would be a consolation goal, so I turned back to the dvd and relexed my eyes.
But then a mere few minutes later the same euphoric sounds repeated themselves from the pub and this time I switched it back to the football and kept an eye on the action. With only a one goal deficit between the two teams my beloved Liverpool team could seize an unexpected opportunity of accomplishing a jaw dropping fight back.
As the third and equalising goal flashed in only six minutes after the first I forced myself into concentration and got back to supporting the team I had been behind since the earliest years of my life.
I was elated as the game went into extra time, purely for the acknowledgment that Liverpool had diverted what had seemed to be an inevitable embarrassment. They had instead proven themselves to be worthy finalists.
When it then went to penalties I was as alert as humanly possible under the circumstances. Obviously at this point and in my current weakened state a penalty shoot out loss would have just been cruel.
Jerzy Dudek’s hilarious and at the same time inspired recreation of Bruce Grobelars wobbly knees technique gave me light relief and allowed Liverpool to win the shoot out more comfortably than anyone would have expected.
Tears burst from my eyes, in what I might add was more due to the illness rather than the scenes I had witnessed. All the same however I was overwhelmed at the result.
I remember vividly through the droplets protruding from my eyes, the post match interviews with Carragher and Gerrard and the huge sense of glory I felt at finally being given such a momentous triumph to remember for the rest of my life.
The players seemed as shocked as I was, but it would prove to be Liverpools most glorious moment of the last twenty years.
I didn't even care I had only been able to watch it from the cramped and difficult condition I had found myself in.