ROVERS THROUGH TO CUP FINAL AGAINST ALL ODDS

Capital City 1 - Tunaville Rovers 2

The massed ranks of Rovers supporters had arrived in both good heart and good voice, a sea of blue and white that had converged, ant-like on Bigtown.They had come to cheer on their boys and see them achieve their ultimate destiny - those famous illustrious twin towers, commonly referred to as Wembley.

With the 'Wizard' able to choose from an injury free squad, controversially he gave local sometime hero, sometime villain, Tim Horsley a free reign in midfield, leaving the more workmanlike Lucas to do the leg-work in a holding role. Such policy looked ill-advised, as from the outset the big-name stars of City poured forward in search of a settling score that would ease the nerves and set them on their way to the expected land-slide victory.

The first 15 minutes or so the Rovers penalty area resembled a pinball machine, the ball bouncing precariously close to the goalline. Only heroics first from Slaughter, the burly goalkeeper, and then from each respective fullback, McKinney and Tinker kept the City forwards at bay. Surely it must only be a matter of time and so it proved. A corner from the right with both centre-backs, the Reverend Mullin and the resolute Mullins, staring at each other rather than the threatening opposing centre forward - straight on to the head - One Nil City. Now for the expected goal deluge.

But wait - the goal seems to be having the opposite effect. Maybe the Rovers can only play when staring adversity in the face. Suddenly there's cohesion, a collective spirit that promises to keep the dream alive, for just before the stroke of half-time Horsley finds space on the half-way line and runs, Finneyesque, straight at the heart of the stationary defence, before exchanging a perfect one-two with the terrier-like Dodd on the edge of the box. A vicious right-foot shot - it's One All and everything to play for in the second half. Time for this erstwhile reporter to catch his breath.

The tide had definitely turned and with the Rovers attacking the massed ranks of their supporters crowded behind the goal at the Station end, they proceeded to play football of sublime quality. City quite simply couldn't get a kick and if it wasn't for some very acrobatic keeping from their tall No. 1, we would not have had to wait until the 68th minute for the inevitable winner. Oh and what a beauty - eleven passes in all, before the ball was thundered home into the top corner from the omnipresent Walsh. The goal celebration was equally impressive - Boy, has this boy got rhythm !

But wait - the Rovers are not going to make it that easy for us. For the last 15 minutes they simply stopped playing, crowding eleven men behind the ball. This was too much. First it was a post, then the bar that saved the day, with Slaughter bossing his defence like never before. Finally, the referee's whistle ended our agony and Rovers were finally heading down Wembley way, the crowd, stunned to silence by the reality of it all. Can they do it ? Can they heck - but that's what we all said in each previous round and despite the greying hair and chewed finger nails, I for one will not miss the chance to read the next chapter of this most wonderful adventure story.