"I am not a number, I'm a free man," bellowed the Prisoner. Greedy sod, he should have been grateful, because Coventry City striker Paul Williams is remembered in the tomes of football folly by just a solitary letter. Yes, one blessed letter.

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WEMBLEY CULTURE PLOT DISINTEGRATES
IN TO FARCE...SUNDAY 6th APRIL 2008

Big day out at the home of football today, but it always pays to be well prepared.

Leaving aside the 30,000-numbering corporate filth who will deny genuine supporters seats at maybe their only Wembley visit in a generation (I'll let you know how many of the bastards don't turn up around me from my champagne perch in block 143, row 11, seat xxx) there's an expression of real football culture on offer today.
Where else would you be able to cobble together 'the Welsh' (no further explanation needed), with Yorkshiremen, the lifeblood of coal, whippets, and calling a spade a chuffing spade? And all of this played out on a thick blanket of snow. Yes, snow.

This is about as far removed as you can get from the sunshine and lights of the Premier League but it's well deserved. While Barnsley were tripping up heavyweights Liverpool and Chelsea on their way to the FA's 'lets pay off the Wembley debt by playing as many games as possible there', Cardiff also rattled a few cages, disposing of, err, Chasetown and Hereford United.

Even that Dickie Bird fella will be there today.

Oh hang on hang on, stop stop. Rewind. This is all too ridiculous.

Have I been experimenting with mind-bending drugs? Am I sleep-'Open Goal'ing again?

It's April. It's semi-final day. I'm writing a diary entry about two clubs who have a Cup history about as fake as Jordan and Gemma Atkinson put together (yes please), and what's more, I'm seriously wondering whether they'll let me take my sledge on the 83 bus to the ground.


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