It’s not often that a truly awe-inspiring match comes along. But the FA Cup has run a little stale since last years final, disappointingly not held at Wembley. AGAIN. But this time, the FA Cup apple tree finally produced some ripe fruit for me to pick at.
The game started with two lacklustre teams put out, with vital vacancies from both. There had been a lot of pre-game banter about this, with both managers having to second-guess each other’s decisions. Neither manager really wanted to exit the FA Cup. Rooney, Ronaldo, Scholes, Vidic, Carrick, and the badge-biting captain Neville all missing from the mighty United. Hunt, Hahnemann, Sonko, Murty, and Harper were gone from the surprisingly resilient Reading.
The goals came quick and fast. 3 flew in Reading’s end in a space of 3 minutes 52 seconds. A long cutting laser from Gabby Heinze was the first to sink in, sliding just under Federici’s body and crawling over the line, like a lizard on it’s belly. The next was a twin hash from Bikey and De La Cruz, when Saha got in between them and turned them both, then snapped away a quick shot past the keeper. He’d been hugging the near post so much that it whizzed past him into the net.
The last of the blitz was a simple piece of genius from Solskjaer. Hanging back level with the defender on the right wing, he was 30 yards from any other defender. Ferdinand swung a long ball in front of the penalty box, and he was in. His composure as an experienced player showed as he put his foot on the ball, looked the keeper in the eye, then curved the ball with the outside of his boot into the net. He smiled at the keeper as he strode away.
The Magjeski stadium was quiet, almost a remembrance day silence. A tumbleweed slowly floated by. Coppel stood, floodlights reflected in his eyes, and formed a plan.
He moved Shorey into the back 4, and allowed Seol to run up the wings. It was back to old-style 4-4-2, and something magical happened. They started playing football. But real football. Not spanish football, all ‘Itsy Bitsy Spider’. Not Italian football, all ‘Here’s some money to win’. But real English football.
They took the ball in the midfield and ran at people. The full backs of United were turned inside out by Seol and Oster. O’Shea and Fletcher were running round in circles trying to spot Ingimar/Gunnarsson’s runs, and the goal came quickly.
After 23 minutes of play, Gunnarsson headed a ball across the 6-yard box to the unmarked Kitson, who obliged with a simple header into the net. As the net rippled, you saw the players be consumed by some inner light. Some inner desire. Some inner hope. This I will try to explain to you now, because I’ve found the answer.
It’s called Coppelism. It’s the football way of life, like Buddhism. No running up to referee’s, no diving, no being stupid, and no nonsense. This Coppelism has great rewards. At any time on the field, Coppelists can conjure up great hope for each other, and they can make great things happen. British football used to be Coppelist, but now we’re more Abramovists. More Drogbists. Which is annoying. We need more Coppelists out there. Get the word out. Tell your friends. They may not know what you’re talking about, but tell them anyway.
Ok, rant over. The Madjeski stadium built up and built up, consumed by Coppelism. The players started to function like a machine, and Manchester United were driven back. In the 68th minute, changes started to happen. Seol was brought off for Little, who ran havoc down the right wing. Then Doyle was brought off for Lita, the king of big occasions.
Alex Ferguson was getting worried. But talk about strength in depth. On the bench he had Rooney, Ronaldo, and Scholes. He brought on the very former, looking to spice up the front line and try and get the game away from the Coppelists. But it didn’t work.
On the 84th minute, Lita dove backwards in the penalty area, somehow connecting his head to the ball. It flew past Van Der Sar into the net, and the Madjeski stadium roared until the goalposts shook. You could see a light in every player’s eyes now, and the body language showed the desire and the passion.
But then the weapon started taking his ear-rings out, getting ready to get on the field. The Premiership’s best on-form player. It was like watching someone trying to rob a hobo with 11 shiny knives, only for him to get out a nuclear missile and point it at their face.
But the light of Coppel still shined brightly in every face. Undeterred by the nuclear missile, they carried on stabbing the hobo. In one final motion, they hit the bar from a pistol-whipping shot from the centre midfield. But that was it.
3 long minutes passed, and Howard Webb blew his whistle. The stars were out, and so were Reading. However, the fans left the stadium bashfully aware of the brilliance of the FA Cup. The press and FIFA have begun to doubt it, but when I see the light of Coppel shining in every man’s eyes, I know the old cup is still alive and well.
