A Quarter of Solace

‘You missed, Mr Bond.’

‘Did I?’

We might have been playing it as smoothly as Bond, but we certainly weren’t scoring like Bond as we entered the latter stages of last night’s quarter-final.

 

I’m sure I wasn’t the only one fearing the worst. After all, we’ve all seen it a thousand times: you pepper your opponents’ goal from all angles and ranges but, like the arch-villain hanging over the edge of a precipice, the damn thing just will not go in. Shots whistle inches past (and into) the woodwork, defenders get limbs in the way and the keeper plays a blinder to blind all blinders. All of the above applied last night, not least the heroics of the belligerently brilliant Bogdan in goal. And then, with your players dispirited and dumbfounded, your opponents land the sucker punch. Just think – if we’re feeling that it’s not going to be our day, imagine how the players feel. And if our players are feeling like that, what must Bolton’s players be feeling?

 

For them, the very tie must have seemed like it was cursed, Pratley needing to be stretchered off from very close to the spot where Muamba collapsed in the first game. God knows, something had to go their way. It just had to. As unconverted chance followed unconverted chance, as save followed save followed save followed save, it looked for all the world that there’d be an unexpected twist. And when Klasnic burst through in the last 20 minutes for their first opportunity of the match, it looked like the sucker punch was heading squarely and unstoppably towards our jaw. We closed our eyes, we looked the other way…..but it didn't connect. Kid Cudi to the rescue.

 

And then, cue the nautical yarns. Admiral Nelson, the most maligned of our newly enlisted crewmembers, took the helm of our hitherto faltering Armada as we sailed up to the other end and – FINALLY – a goal. The hitherto impossible. Not just a goal, but a goal from a corner. The hitherto unimaginable. We scored a goal from a corner. I almost have to repeat those words out loud just to believe them. Don’t worry, I won’t say we cruised it from then on. But the waters were a lot calmer.

 

Still the danger of the sucker punch though. Immediately, Bale strode through the middle to whip in a second with exactly the kind of clinical finish we’d needed to beat a keeper who was almost as smoking hot as his hair-colour. When a keeper’s at that temperature, you’ve got to give him no chance. Bale’s first FA Cup goal, believe it or not. I reckon he might get a few more.

Of course, we did concede the obligatory goal. We couldn’t fail to in a game like that. It couldn’t fail to be Kevin Davies either, a player who scores against us even when he isn’t playing. But shortly after, Howard Webb kindly paused with whistle in mouth as Saha lashed in the third, just to lend a slightly more reflective look to the scoreline. It was the least we deserved for a long overdue display of vigour, style and movement, all of which have been distinctly lacking in recent games. There were some beautiful interchanges between Ade, Luka, Bale and Rafa, ably supported on the flanks by Beni and Walker and even supplemented by Parker and Livermore. The selection of both probably raised a few eyebrows – but in the end, they were the Roger Moore kind of raised eyebrows. It was a performance and a victory that provided a bit of solace in the solitude. It’s been too long boys. Keep it up now. Swansea like to play too.

The fact that the game happened at all was a victory for football, and the two sets of players certainly did it justice with their commitment and sportsmanship. Owen Coyle and Bolton showed in the way they greeted our fans before and after the game that they appreciated the support and care Muamba received, as do we all. Well played boys. See you at the Reebok in a few weeks.