Into the Lion's Den, as strong a team as Chris could have picked. Excitement reaching fever pitch, let’s do it boys. Let’s get to Wembley.
Far from the pulsating cup tie we all expected, the next 45 minutes consisted of some of the worst football we’ve had the misfortune to observe all season - going all the way back to Watford away on the opening day. Poorer quality opposition, coming down off the Palace away high of a week ago, the intimidating atmosphere...it wasn’t clear why Albion were struggling to get going. Some periods of promising possession, coming to nothing, then it was the hosts turn to avoid threatening the goal.
You did suspect, however, that as usual set pieces could provide a chance or two, and so it proved. The biggest talking point of the half, a nicely weighted corner swung in by Knockaert, towards the charging Duffy at the back post. The defender surged towards the ball, but was curtailed under the rather desperate attention of a Millwall defender. That looked highly suspicious. Duffy demanded a penalty. On the replay it was. VAR REF...oh. No goal on St Paddy’s Day for the Irishman this time.
The footballing gods had clearly had enough of the dross displayed so far, watching down angrily at an insipid encounter unbefitting for an FA Cup Quarter final, and ordered a barrage of hailstones to ignite proceedings. With that the game finally sparked into life somewhat, Ryan out of his goal quickly to block an effort from Wallace as he raced through. Need to step it up boys.
Suddenly disaster: a searching corner to the back post, headed home past the helpless Maty Ryan-nothing he could do to prevent this effort. The Millwall yobs did what anyone would if their team took the lead - ignored it and turned instantly to hurl abuse at the travelling Albion fans, a delightful cocktail of homophobic gestures, mindless snarling insults (mostly along the homophobia theme) and tireless invitations for fights. It became increasingly obvious that the majority situated close to away end had absolutely no interest in the actual football, it’s merely an excuse to spew vitriol under the protection of the Stewards, Millwall FC simply a vessel to facilitate their vile attitudes. Strange bunch.
The Millwall knuckle draggers aside, Brighton and Hove Albion had 20 minutes to save themselves from a second Quarter Final exit in two years. No need to panic, one goal all that we needed.
Double disaster. The championship side stick the knife in and double their advantage, a well-worked move down the right-hand side, the lively Jed Wallace again causing problems. The winger skipped past Bernardo, into the area and slid the ball across, O’Brien prodding home. Delirious celebrations from the Millwall players, collective winces from the stewards and police, who begin preparations for a seemingly inevitable pitch invasion on the final whistle.
As the minutes ticked by, it appeared that was that. Albion had been poor, miserable in fact, and even with Locadia, Izquierdo and March all entering the frame, we were not looking likely to score. There’s always a chance at 1-0, in this case, Albion were slumping to a deserved defeat.
Suddenly, the game exploded.
Minute 88, and the Seagulls in possession. The ball is worked nicely for March, who glides past two elegantly. To the byline, poked towards the six-yard box, deflected...arghh. It won’t quite fall for Locadia, who decides to turn, and protect the ball. Then, with everyone expecting the Dutchman to recycle the ball back out, Jürgen swivels, and absolutely leathers the ball at goal. The ball flies past David Martin before he’s even seen it. GET IN. Someone grab the ball, bloody hell, we’re still in this!
March on the ball again, Albion looking to draw level instantly. The game now at breakneck pace, showing no sign of slowing down. The winger drifts inside, markedly superior to everyone else on the pitch. He’s been excellent since his introduction, no Millwall player able to get near him. Solly spots José in space, and slides him in perfectly. The Albion fans up above stretched to see, this is the chance! FINISH IT PLEASE! Alas, the Colombian’s effort is tame, a meek side-foot straight at Martin. Sake.
Millwall make one more cynical substitute, their motive is evident. They can’t run down the clock without the ball, however, and there’s tired legs amongst the home side. March wriggles away, free kick. This really IS the last chance, even TINY Maty Ryan sprints forward for the last action, lurking in the box to try and cause confusion. Well, it certainly worked. March with the responsibility, it simply had to be a good ball. It isn’t, it’s high, and beyond the desperate yellow shirts. FFS. Martin takes a step forward to claim, but inexplicably, miraculously, can only palm the ball gently into his own net.
A brief second of silent confusion - WTF. Did that just...go in…?
Then pandemonium. March wheels away grinning and punching the air (Course I meant it! Knew I could score from there), Ryan in close pursuit. Dunk slides on his knees like he’d been the one to swing home the equaliser, every Albion player celebrating wildly and directing their elation to the upper tier, full of disbelieving, delirious away fans. The unthinkable, unfolding in front of our very eyes. This game is OURS, we’re not going down without a fight (and a HUGE slice of luck)
And breath. An absolutely astonishing close to the game, with Albion looking, in all honesty, dead and buried. Extra time against an exhausted Millwall, who’d already taken the gamble of substituting their three most attacking players, looked an inviting prospect. The home fans were stunned, only minutes ago were they cruising through to a day out at Wembley, now there for the taking with 30 more minutes to play.
As expected, Albion took control of proceedings - Izquierdo cutting in for one of his trademark long-range efforts, the home goalkeeper this time able to collect the ball without incident. Millwall looked reluctant to venture forward, but Ryan was called into action once more before half-time of ET: a diagonal ball across from the right, flicked on...get it OUT, Albion! It’s passed back, Meredith shifting it to his left, and fizzes a low shot through the bodies. Superb from Ryan, who gets down promptly with a strong hand to deflect the ball safely away, rebound blazed over from a tight angle. Out of jail again, courtesy of our Aussie shot-stopper. Maybe a little harsh on Button to be relegated to the bench for the cup, but no doubting Ryan’s quality. We’re at the serious end of the competition now, nothing should be left to chance.
Into the last 15 minutes, and the game now consisted entirely of Brighton attacks. Patient play, but it was increasingly difficult to penetrate past the home defensive line, Millwall sitting especially deep. Stephens finds himself on the edge of the ‘D’, his rasping shot straight at Martin. Still waiting for that ‘one last chance’.
As the last few minutes of the extra time period begin to evaporate without any notable occurrences, suddenly a moment of drama. Lewis Dunk wins a foul, nicking the ball away, then swiftly tripped as Millwall scamper urgently to win the ball back. Then an awful act of aggression from Ferguson, raking his studs down the back of Dunk’s calf. Thuggish, cowardly stamp from the Millwall midfielder - who instantly received his deserved punishment, a straight red for violent conduct. Justice, perhaps, in the likely shoot-out, Ferguson one of Millwall’s regular penalty takers, now unable to contribute.
With Millwall on their last legs, willing the referee to draw proceedings to a close, one final moment of drama. Montoya goes flying forward, Stephens wedges a searching ball over the top. The perfect ball - every Millwall defender instantly taken out of the game, frozen as the Spaniard cushions the ball back across. Locadia must score, and he does, smashing the ball into the roof of the net. WE’VE DONE IT...Albion fans think that’s the winner, but the Lineswoman has her flag raised defiantly. Sake, was he? Murmurs of discontent turn to fury in the Albion end, as texts begin to circulate from watchers at home: “Montoya was ON!! U were robbed xx” “ooh unlucky there, just seen the replay. Deffo on.” “Nooooo! Was onside as well!” Robbed of a valid goal, the absence of VAR now more apparent than ever.
So to penalties, a rare treat for the travelling supporters. Down our end as well. Let’s finish this.
Murray up first, good call. A positive start is key, too risky to chance it and leave your experienced takers till the end, with a view to them scoring the winner. Glenn steps up - and his effort smacks off the crossbar. Bloody hell. After all that…
Millwall’s technique clear: Williams, Tunnicliffe, Leonard, all absolutely hammering the ball hard past Ryan. Tough for Maty, but he looked up for this. You could sense a Socceroo special, and we needed him.
Subs Locadia and March both dispatch their spot-kicks efficiently, Pröpper making no mistake either. Getting tense now. Come on Maty…
SAVED!!!! A brilliant stop, reacting well and flinging a leg at the ball to send it flying over. Ryan thumps the badge in delight, fueling the crowd, who respond with a roar of delight. That’s three each now, get in there.
Stephens steps up… and slides the ball home, under the goalkeeper’s right arm. The grey-haired veteran Morrison next, and scores, confidently. Into sudden death. No more mistakes.
Captain Dunk steps forward for the Albion, thundering the ball home without issue. Great penalty, no ill-effects from the painful stamp suffered at the end of extra time. I can barely watch as Cooper places the ball down. He looks nervous as hell, and so am I. The centre back runs up to the ball, and sends it sailing majestically over the bar. GAME OVER, ALBION ARE GOING TO WEMBLEY!
The players sprint down towards an ecstatic Maty Ryan, a classic penalty shootout victory-bundle ensuing. A relieved Murray offers his commiserations to a gutted Millwall side, class as ever. Wild celebrations all round, a lucky escape, but the job got done. Now onto the semi-final draw. Oh.
Ah well, anything can happen with the magic of the cup, eh? Let’s go to Wembley with nothing to lose, and give it absolutely everything for the chance of eternal Albion glory. Worth remembering at times like these, on such a marvellous high - we've come a long, long way, together.
Que sera, sera…
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