Trembling Knees on Stand-by

Say ‘No!’ to Cup magic.

Here we go, then. Tin helmets securely fastened, a blob of war paint smeared across the cheek and a last deep lungful of the good stuff before we charge out of the trenches and into the heart of battle. It’s the F.A Cup semi-final, dear reader. And it might just be about to get historic. Portsmouth. Wembley.

It. Is. On.

Not since 2001 have we found ourselves still lingering at the party at this late hour; when the lights are starting to come up and the bowls of Wotsits dotted around the kitchen have become noticeably chewy. 2001. Nine long seasons ago. I can’t recall who we lost to- there appears to be no record of it whatsoever- but it was back in a time when the ties were still shared between Old Trafford and Villa Park and Newcastle were a team to be feared rather than openly chuckled at. It was them, in fact, who put pay to our chances two seasons previously; one of very few flirts we’ve had with the competition in recent memory. Alan Shearer on that day- a million miles away from the MOTD sofa and shoulder lapelled shirts- scoring the winner. The clear favourites on that occasion.

Whizz forward to 2010 and it’s us who go into Sunday’s encounter as the critic’s choice for advancement. Pompey, still limping from the weight of a genuinely miserable season, have plenty of baggage. Injuries, relegation, financial obscurity. No Jamie O’Hara. There’s a feeling in some of the more cynical camps that the list may soon include ‘F.A Cup nearly men.’ The final heartbreak of a ridiculous campaign.

But things, as we’ve come to expect, are rarely that simple. The irony of Portsmouth actually beating us is enough for any sane fan to be guarded with their confidence. ITV will have an orgy in ramming these potential twists down our throats, should we be unclear of the implications of ‘Arry not making it to the final with Tottenham. But doing so with his former club. On paper, we’ve enough in the tank to obliterate them off the park. But in a game such as this- in a competition such as this- paper is a dead format. Like Betamax or Minidisc. It’s about twonking them for real. On the Wembley turf. A chance for glory.

Selection wise, both teams are in relative tatters. It’s been a long old road. For us the usual suspects adorn the missing persons record- Lennon, Jenas and the like- as well as one or two in the maybe pile. King, Huddlestone, Dawson and Corluka all doubts for the trip across town. The only reassuring thing to be garnered from this is that we’ve overcome sterner obstacles than Portsmouth with much less. No worries on that front, then. It’s never been about who isn’t playing.

Right. Let’s be having you. Predictions and all flavours of pre-match hustle, if you’d be so kind.

Neutrals and old romantics will probably want to see an upset here; a fairytale conclusion for the browbeaten princess who’s spent the whole time in the basement mopping flagstones and squirting polyfilla into mouse holes. F.A Cup magic? Not on my watch. I want to see her kept down there. Wallowing, grubby with little chance of a happy ending.

In short: let’s end them.

*another deep breath*

Nearly there.

COYS!!!