Neville Dalton is a journalist with the BBC News website and a
Cup final week:
Can't understand why so many fans on Portsmouth-Mad have been getting over-excited. Can't sleep and just want the big day to come.
I appreciate it's an important occasion, but there's still so long to go, so much to do at work and home.
In any case, my excitement has been diluted slightly by the realisation - after four defeats in a row - that they could really lose.
Read Harry's comments to The News that he was planning to play
Friday, May 16 (Cup Final Eve):
And now I understand, as Don McLean might say.
Finished work for the week yesterday, but was still preoccupied with my own business this morning.
Then, after lunch, I took a look at The News' online site (live too far away from
Amazed to find so many stories about Pompey, when normally there might be a couple of new ones.
Most of them were the predictable stuff from players and staff - important day; exciting times; we can be heroes. Not very imaginative, but you can't really argue with the sentiments.
So many stories. Maybe this is a little bit special, after all.
Watched a fascinating video interview with the normally publicity-shy Sasha on my very own colleagues' BBC Sport website.
In 17 minutes, I learned much more about the man than I ever had from all previous publicity, based as much on guesswork as reality, I suspect.
He's been in some of the national papers, too. It really must be a special time if Sasha is giving interviews.
Then I switch to the Portsmouth-Mad message board.
As usual, skip the ever-growing, rather distasteful, ticket-tout business stuff and take a look at those from ordinary fans - a reasonable gauge, I hope, of how most of us are feeling.
And then it hits me - there's less than 24 hours to go. Pompey in the FA Cup Final.
Pompey on the brink of
The things I dreamed about as a kid, hardly allowing myself to believe that any of them could ever come true in my lifetime.
Spend the rest of the day - to the bemusement of my wife - singing Pompey Cup Final songs around the house that I don't even normally sing at
Que Sera Sera…; When Sol goes up…; Harry Redknapp's Blue and White Army; You're Going Home in a Wembley Ambulance (throwback to what my contemporaries used to sing all around me on the Fratton End terraces!).
I even find time to invent one of my own - what a clever boy I am.
To the tune of Que Sera (which seems to be in vogue at the moment), and with no apologies to Saints fans:
When I was just a little boy
I asked my mother what should I be.
Will I be Pompey?
Will I be Scum?
Here's what she said to me:
(Clap-clap; clap-clap-clap
Clap-clap-clap-clap)
My wife has to calm me down.
Can't wait!
Saturday, May 17 (Cup Final Day):
No worries - I'd planned such an early start, that there's still plenty of time to catch the Brighton-to-London train and meet my mate, Fraser, and his family at London Bridge.
Would have been Victoria - my normal commuting destination - but he lives nearer the Bridge, and with the
We ride the Jubilee Line for two-thirds of its length, ignoring the stop that had seemed so magical last time -
Fraser grew up around here and reckons it will be a bit less hectic for our pre-match family drinks.
He's right - nowhere near as many people as were around Wembley before the semi-final.
But judging by those raucous voices we can hear with the slightly lyrical twang - and the slightly darker shade of blue on their shirts - we've walked into a
We walk into a relatively (and I mean, relatively) decent-looking pub, two minutes from the Tube station. It's split about 50-50 Pompey and
Pompey get everywhere.
A bit wider angle from the goal than last time, slightly beyond the far corner flag, but still a good view. A very good view.
It's second-tier, but because it's in the corner, we're above one of the service tunnels - with just two rows of seats in front of me; then an uninterrupted view.
Bliss!
Pity, but I can understand. Much as I dislike the corporate feel of football these days, these companies plough a lot of money into the competitions, so I supposed it's only right that they want to maximise exposure.
But it does seem a little petty.
Blokey appears to agree. He argues persistently - but politely, I must say. To no avail.
A second chap - a stranger to both of us - rushes down to the front.
He makes his point to the officials below, doing their job - only less politely.
"Don't fuckin' take it down," he shouts at Blokey. "Fuckin' leave it there," as if it's Blokey being the spoilsport.
Honestly, I understand the disappointment and frustration, but this is the FA Cup Final, for God's sake. A real opportunity to enjoy being a Pompey fan in front of the watching millions.
Absolutely no need to get aggressive and stroppy on such a day.
2.48pm Katherine Jenkins and Lesley Garrett sing Abide With Me before belting out the Welsh anthem, Land of My Fathers, and the National Anthem.
This is a moment I have been waiting for - and dreading.
I've watched the FA Cup Final since 1967, and the communal singing of the popular, evocative hymn has always been, well, an abiding memory of Cup Final Day.
I'm a fan of both singers - and they both look magnificent on the Wembley stage.
But I feel strongly that the Welsh anthem should not be sung at the English Cup Final.
I'd never boo it, but I know plenty will.
I find myself wanting to clap, as if I'd attended one of her concerts and was showing my appreciation for her performance rather than remaining aloof in line with my principles.
The man next to me does clap - probably for the same reason. I manage to resist, but feel better knowing that someone from the
Incidentally, I watched the big screen a lot while our Katherine was singing
Hardly any of them are singing - quite a surprise for such a lyrical lot, who normally sing about anything… anywhere.
Maybe they are mesmerised by their fellow Welsh person's performance.
Maybe they don't know the words.
A fair few Pompey fans do boo - but by no means anywhere near all. Katherine's singing is not drowned out by the boos, even though they're coming from around me.
Can't say the same when the National Anthem is sung.
That's right - the national anthem of the
I'm not in favour of showing disrespect to other nations' anthems, but at least the Portsmouth fans have the (dubious) excuse of it being just that - someone else's anthem.
The Taffs are booing their own.
So they'll be turning down their Uefa Cup place if they win, then, will they?
(Incidentally, loved the flags some
Well, nearly everyone.
I have this rather strange ritual when I pay to watch a football match of wanting to watch the kick-off as well as the ensuing 90 minutes' play.
I want to watch every kick of the game, not least the very first.
The character called Richard two rows in front of me probably wants the same.
He and what looks like his son (spitting image in look and manner, only younger) are standing up, presumably for a better view.
It's just that they're in the front row. There is no one in front of them.
Richard (I know he's called Richard because a couple of the fans around me seem to know him and call him by his full name - Dick Head) and son are oblivious to all the shouts from fellow supporters - that's supporters on the same side.
Finally, Richard turns round.
A bit too sharply, as he totters unsteadily, betraying what he's been doing for the best part of the past three or four hours.
Judging by his contorted face, I'm expecting a string of invective to be unleashed.
But very few words come from his mouth. Well, complete words, anyway. He doesn't seem to know what to say.
He's missed the kick-off by now. Luckily, I haven't, even if I did have to crane my neck to one side to witness it.
He hears the continued shouted complaints, by now an unwanted distraction on so many Pompey fans' special day.
He adopts an aggressive stance towards a particularly frustrated chap a row or two behind me.
I'm convinced he'll start climbing over the seats to get to him - if only he was steady enough on his feet to stand properly, let alone climb over the Wembley seats.
I repeat: Pompey are in the FA Cup Final. If, as a Pompey fan, you can't enjoy today, when are you going to enjoy it?
On a Uefa Cup trip, surrounded by Johnny Foreigner? I shudder to think.