I can confidently predict that I will be as nervous as a grouse on 12th August by tomorrow morning. Truth be told, I’m fidgeting badly and staring blankly and we’re still over a day away. I’ve already had twinges of severe ‘noia, and if they’re a portent of what’s to come, then I’m in for right old day. Our biggest rivals over the last ten years, and finally we meet them in the cup final. As Wenger said, it’s a miracle it hasn’t happened already.
We’ve had typically bullish stuff from both camps, with one player or another – from each side – confessing they are going to win. Clearly, someone is lying here. The only thing that matters is that we translate our form of late onto the field tomorrow. If we do that, we’ll be in for a cracking game.
The line-up’s still not easy to predict. I still reckon – assuming the ink from his tattoos hasn’t caused him more gip – Freddie will start on the right, and Bergkamp will start with Reyes up front.
The Mirror is claiming Senderos is facing the axe, with Wenger choosing instead to stick with the more experienced pairing of Toure and Campbell, and while it would be harsh on Senderos if this were the case, I can see the logic behind it. Let’s just be grateful we’ve got the choice – earlier in the season, we were fretting about Cygan and Toure’s performances in front of Manuel Faulty.
There’ll be no East Lower flag in Cardiff tomorrow, but my flat cap will be there, atop my head, as it was in the semi-final. Then, we destroyed an overly-physical side by playing good football. How I’d like that pattern repeated tomorrow.