Distance from Coventry Building Society Arena to Wembley Stadium- 95 miles (152km). Travel time 2hr 45 mins

The day is upon us. An historic day for Coventry City. It’s only the 2nd time in our 141 year history that we have made it this far in the oldest cup competition in the world. Our previous visit was in 1987 where we went on to lift the trophy. But the past 37 years have been difficult, and we never thought we’d ever get this far again. Oh. We are playing Manchester United. You may have heard of them. They have won the competition 12 times. And are pretty well known around the world. Proper football fans hate Man U. There’s probably an equivalent American football team. You know. The team that get all the calls, the fans are up themselves and they have no class or style.

So we’ve got no chance. But let’s go and enjoy the day, right?

All the pundits, and Coventry's recent form, all point to one result. A spanking. And not the good kind. One that will leave a mark. (Isn’t that the good kind??). Move on.

They’ll be a worldwide audience. Football fans across the globe watch the FA Cup. And there’s a bit more interest as everyone loves an underdog story.

36,000 Coventry fans make their way to the home of football. Blogit and Scarpa set off at 7.30am. It’s not a long journey, but we’re heading into London on the same day as the London marathon. So there’s traffic. Lots of it. So it’s an early start, and lots of sitting around. But we don’t care. We’re going to Wembley, and because it’s a special occasion, we have special treats. I mean. It’s too early for Greggs or Maccie D’s, isn’t it? But it’s not too early for Frazzles, Wotsits, Bacon Fries, Scampi Fries, Maltesers, Minstrels and Diet Coke. Lapsing into a food coma, we come round just as the coach pulls into Wembley car park.

We make our way to the fanzone, which is a bit like a tailgate party, but with no trucks, sunshine or guns. It’s just music, beer and burgers. What a terrible combination. Especially 4 hours before kick off. Everyone’s having a great time, until someone vomits on their shoes. The very definition of peaking too early. Or puking too early. After a couple of hours, and a sense that the mood is turning, we make our way into the ground.

We have great seats, 2 rows from the front, by the corner flag. In the thick of it. There’s a certain razzmatazz about the occasion. In a very British reserved way. Not tacky. Considered. That’s how we like it.

The teams emerge to a cacophony of noise. The City end is a sea of Sky Blue. The United end is a sea of plastic. The game gets under way. United are in control. Of course they are. Their centre back alone cost £80 million. Our whole team cost £20 million. We are on the back foot on the pitch, but on the front foot in the stands. We’re having a good ol’ sing song. And then the moment we have been waiting for. United get a corner, on our side of the pitch. The most hated footballer of his generation, Bruno Fernandes (look up the dirty, diving cheat) comes to take it. In unison, shoulder to shoulder, arm in arm, father and son, Blogit and Scarpa, and only 10 yards away, we get to tell Bruno exactly what we think of him. Several times. I wipe a tear from my eye. It’s like teaching your child to ride a bike. Or shoot a gun. And fortunately I recorded it. So it can be passed down through the generations. The result no longer matters. We did what we came to do. To call Bruno Fenandes a massive anchor (well, it sounds like that anyway).

And then 2 minutes later, I wipe another tear away. United score. The floodgates are about to open. Not crying wise, but goal wise. And they do. United score again. And again. And by 70 minutes we are 3-0 down. It was expected, so there’s not too much disappointment. But let’s not let any more in. It could be embarrassing. We send on a couple of substitutes to give them an experience of playing at Wembley and to try to stop the tide. But what’s this?? A cross comes in from the wing, and big Elis Simms slams it in. A consolation goal. We go crazy. We’ve scored. At Wembley. Against Man United. And we got to call Bruno Fernandes an anchor. What a day.

Even if they score again, we don’t care. We got to celebrate a goal. The noise in the City end ramps up. It seems to be affecting both teams. City start knocking the ball about for the first time in 80 minutes. It falls to Callum O’Hare, our very own Messi. He shoots. It hits a defender. It loops in the air. The goalkeeper is stranded. It’s going over the bar. No it isn’t. It’s going in. City have another. It’s 3-2 and there’s 10 minutes left, Surely we can’t get another. We were down and out a minute ago. United are shaken. City are stirred. But time is running out. With the last play of the game, a cross comes in. A shot towards goal. It hits the defender's arm. The ref blows his whistle and points to the spot. It’s a penalty to Cov. In the 95th minute. We were 3-0 down in the 70th minute. And now we have the chance to equalise with the last kick of the game. But who has the nerve to step up and take it? The American. That’s who. He keeps his cool. He sends the keeper the wrong way, and the City fans into raptures. It’s carnage in the stands. Grown men cry. Children cry. United fans cry. We have done the impossible. We have taken Man United to extra time. And by far, the greatest experience of my life (apart from the birth of the children. Obvs. Maybe not the 2nd one. He’s hard work).

Another 30 minutes of this. Can the heart take it? Well it withstood Frazzles,Wotsits, Bacon Fries, Scampi Fries, Maltesers, Minstrels and Diet Coke. Maybe the Diet Coke was a step too far. I feel the palpitations.

The extra 30 minutes is a cagey affair. United hit the post. City hit the post. It’s looking like penalties. And then, as the ref is about to blow his whistle, The American sends in a cross and Victor Torp slots it home. City win 4-3. It’s the most remarkable game of football. Ever. Grown men cry. Children cry. United fans cry. The TV audience cry. I reckon you’re probably crying too.

The End*

*- That was the Hollywood ending. In reality, the goal was ruled offside. In the most controversial circumstances. Conspiracy theorists will say that Coventry weren’t meant to play Manchester City in the FA Cup Final. A Manchester City v Manchester United Final will bring in more revenue for the FA and television companies. The game went to a penalty shoot out and Coventry lost. We kept our pride though. And our dignity. So that’s what matters. Oh. And Bruno Fernandes is still an anchor.

#PUSB