The Battle of London: A Time For Heroes

Deep breath; grab a lungful. We’re off again- an F.A Cup quarter-final replay with Fulham. The road to Wembley may not be entirely without its perils, but we’re being dragged along by the whiff of trophy polish, blood and glory. It’s intoxicating. It swims round our eyes and mouth and makes us giddy at the very idea. Like someone leaving a pie in an open window, while the scent of it hooks us by the nostrils and pulls us off our feet. Y’know, like in them cartoons. The promise of a May final, then, has become an irresistible thought.

But much to do first.

Little old Fulham, eh? Not likely. We’re small fry compared to some of the giants they’ve toppled this season; Man United, Juventus and the like. The ransacking of Juventus was- for want of a better word- mental. If nothing else, it may have single-handedly given the Europa Cup back its mojo. If it ever possessed it in the first place. Say what you want about the much maligned competition- for all its convoluted fixtures and daft teams- but who of you wouldn’t have sold their mother-in-law for a night like that at the Lane? No? Well, stop telling fibs and re-open your e-bay account. Craven Cottage may as well have been the Nou Camp, for all the atmosphere that was steaming into the West London sky that evening.

Jealous? Me?

The hope is that they’ve burned themselves out. Peaked at just the wrong time. Watching their tie with Man City at the weekend- while I didn’t see the whole game- would have you believe just that. Clumsy mistakes, several defensive aneurisms. The kind of stuff you might not expect from a Hodgson side. Not one to write off an entire career, but that Chris Smalling is having a bit of trouble living up to his hefty transfer fee. It’s like he’s got an enormous, children-in-need-style cheque sellotaped to his head, and even the slightest gust of wind is causing him to stumble awkwardly. Having said that, he’ll probably play like Baresi tonight.

Ho-hum.

Right. I shan’t bore you with injury details or guessing formations. All I will say- with us much conviction as I can muster from here in internetland- whoever does take to the field tonight better play like they want it half as much as we all do. Fulham need rolling over without fuss. Preferably all in the space of forty-five minutes. Asking too much? I expect so, but I’m in a demanding mood.

A semi-final place is at stake.

Let’s hear you.

COYS!