My club, Leicester City, could hardly be described as footballing paupers. True, we nearly went bust a decade ago. But over the past few years, with buy-outs from Milan Mandaric and now the Thai-based King Power Group, we're doing OK, money-wise. But when Manchester City, the wealthiest club in the world, came to visit this weekend for the 3rd round of the FA Cup, it felt like you or I inviting rich relatives round for tea. Just the slightest bit self-conscious about the chipped plates and the sauce bottles out on the table.
In terms of what I wanted from the match itself, it was a case of mixed emotions. People talk about the magic of the FA Cup, but I'm a realist and I know clubs like Leicester don't win competitions like that. The last time a team from outside the top flight got their hands on the trophy was West Ham in 1980. Magic is in pretty short supply. Promotion is our real goal this season, so I was looking for a good performance, maybe forcing a replay. At the very least, a bit of honour in defeat.
The problem was, when the Manchester City team sheet was read out, my blood ran cold. No outings for the reserves here. The starting eleven included Joe Hart, Joleon Lescott, Jerome Boateng, Kolo Toure, Patrick Viera, James Milner, Adam Johnson, Jo and Carlos Tevez. They'd come to give us a spanking. And that was something I really didn't want to see.
As it turned out, I needn't have worried. In fact, we opened the scoring after 45 seconds, giving us the chance to sing "One-nil on your big day out" to the massed ranks of Man City fans. Although we'd fallen behind by half time, an error by Joe Hart gifted us an equaliser that was thoroughly deserved. When the ref blew the final whistle, I felt pretty satisfied. We hadn't won, but we'd come out with our heads held high.
So in the end, having the rich relatives round wasn't so bad after all. And now it's back to theirs in nine days' time. Let's just hope they've got all their silver cutlery nicely polished for us.
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