"Cagey".

The Angle...  investigates the intricate workings of the two-legged cup tie:

The Draw.
The most significant issue when two teams are drawn together to play a two-legged cup tie is who plays at home first. Teams generally prefer to be at home in the second leg. Boring statistics apparently back this up. Football supporters will pin their hopes on the second leg, where they hope their side will finish the job.

The 1st Leg.
Not always a great spectacle for the neutral, to be honest. First legs are often cagey affairs, with both sides either attempting to feel each other out or succeeding in cancelling each other out. Both of these circumstances are often suggested by the co-commentator, who likes to think he is analysing in great detail what is simply just a rather shit game. The act of feeling each other out perhaps deserves its somewhat creepy name. The pace of the game is slow, and far from pulsating. Feeling each other out can also be referred to as probing, which also maintains a sense of slight perversity. The concept of cancelling each other out has its basis in tactics, where both teams mirror the other's set-up.

The home team in the first leg face a difficult proposition - the visitors are likely to set their stall out, but will be on the lookout for that all-important away goal to take back to the return leg. As we described briefly yesterday, away goals can be crucial, vital and precious. Woe betides anyone who believes that they literally count double, however. Snatching an away goal in the first leg, especially in a smash-and-grab raid, lends a sense of exciting criminality to an away win. Alternatively, if a team that is 3-0 down manages to snatch a late away goal in the 1st leg, it will be regarded as a glimmer of hope - in football matters, hope only ever manifests itself in glimmers. Rays of hope are surprisingly rare.

The final whistle in the first leg heralds the virtual "half-time" in the tie (and, furthermore, half-time in the first leg will be pointlessly signposted as being a "quarter of the way through this tie"). Co-commentators and pundits will be asked which manager will be the happier with the result. Just in case any aspiring pundits or co-commentators are reading, here is a cut-out-and-keep guide to who is happier with a 1st leg result:

Fig 1.0

A good first leg result can virtually book a place in the next round, making the second leg academic or a mere formality, and setting up a mouthwatering clash with the next opponents. Not that the manager or players will allow themselves to tell the media that, of course - the tie isn't over and there is still a job to do, so they won't be "getting carried away", let alone "thinking about the next round". Conversely, a catastrophic first-leg performance can leave a team with a Herculean task or a mountain to climb in the return fixture. No particular mountain, even Everest, is ever offered as an analogy here.

Neither of these circumstances is great for the TV hype machine though. What Sky and ITV love most is a tie that is too close to call after a tense first leg. Perfectly (or even beautifully) poised, often on a knife-edge, such ties allow the broadcasters to beef up their opening montages for the coverage of the second leg.

The 2nd Leg.Endless previewing and build-up leaves no-one unsure about the state of play going into the second leg. Any team that has any sort of deficit to peg back is advised to get an early goal. Any goal that is scored within the opening twenty minutes can be considered early, which is probably why the first 20 minutes are always considered crucial in these circumstances. In these first 20 minutes, teams must be expected to make a bright start. Bright starts are usually heralded by the commentator, but have arguably been cheapened in recent years. Once upon a time, an early goal was the prerequisite for a bright start. Now, in an era in which Soccer Saturday demands analysis from its pundits only seconds after kick-off, a bright start can often be achieved by merely winning a throw-in in the opponent's half. Nevertheless, a team attempting to reduce an aggregate deficit must make a bright start. A goal in the first 20 minutes serves to get the crowd going, particularly on a special European night. Such a match is a very good time for a striker to score a quickfire brace or, even better, an x-minute hat-trick.

Teams seeking to protect an aggregate lead will aim to put in a professional performance. One of football's finest euphemisms, a professional performance simply means playing out the ninety minutes with as little bother as possible. Alternatively, they may seek to step up a gear to put the tie out of reach of the opposition. The cautious probing, so characteristic of first leg matches, gives way to throwing caution to the wind and going for the jugular. In such dynamic circumstances, it is not rare to find the tie swinging dramatically between the two teams, as the second leg ebbs and flows. The excitement of a cup tie is often rubber-stamped when the co-commentator reveals that "we've got a genuine cup tie on our hands now." Commentators have the unenviable additional task of keeping track of the various permutations of the aggregate score. They will always be on hand to let us know the point at which the scorelines means "this cannot now go to extra time or penalties". Late goals can provide dramatic climaxes and heartbreak. Analysts will look back on pivotal moments with smug hindsight, while teams going out of the competition will be left to rue missed chances.

The relative complexities of two-legged ties mean that they are a rich source of cliches, as commentators, co-commentators and pundits seek desperately to provide mindnumbingly inane analysis.

Unfortunately, it also means we endure twice as much of it.

Adam.

Seven Deadly Sins

One of the main effects of cliche is that it maintains certain opinions, however misguided. In a football context, the autopilot observations offered up week after week by commentators, co-commentators and pundits are absorbed by the sponges that many football fans have for brains. Many of these opinions are outdated, inaccurate or exaggerated. Some are downright wrong...

1. Hitting the Post/Bar is "Unlucky".
The objective of the sport is to force the ball within the 8ft x 8yd rectangle. The size of a standard goalframe should be familiar to us all. The goal does not move during the match, and is not subject to any sort of random and unpredictable external force.

One can understand how a shot hitting the post or bar could be regarded as more dramatic than a shot that misses the goalframe completely - after all, the ball is back in play and there is little time to immediately reflect on what has just happened. However, under no circumstances should it possibly be considered unlucky. A shot that hits the post or bar is simply slightly better than a shot that misses the goal, and worse than one that actually goes in. It is not unlucky, and certainly not "desperately unlucky". Furthermore, if a team happens to hit the woodwork on more than one occasion during a match in which they fail to score, their fans, manager and players have no moral or logical justification to "bemoan their luck".

There is absolutely no reason why a shot that misses the goal by an inch is unluckier than one that flies high, wide and [not at all] handsome. Better, yes. Closer, certainly. But not bloody unlucky.

The only exception to this rule occurs during informal games between schoolchildren. Often denied the luxury of actual goalposts, they are forced to use jumpers, coats and rucksacks. Very often, the participants are faced with the moral quandary of the ball going over the post. The attacking team will inevitably claim that the ball "would have gone in off the post". The defending team will proceed to forensically reconstruct the shot in question, and demonstrate that it would have rebounded back into play. The debate has a common resolution - the two teams simply keep their own score forthwith. However, the issue continues to rear its ugly head whenever someone is brave enough to shout out loud the current "scoreline".

The point being made here is that, given the random allocation of scary bigger boys to either side in such games, it is only in these circumstances that a shot that hits the post can be considered unlucky. Until FIFA dispenses with goalposts and decrees that a panel of teenage ne'er-do-well bullies will rule whether or not a shot has gone in, a shot that hits the woodwork is never unlucky. It's simply not good enough to go in. Oh, erm, unless it's hit too well.

2. "...a Keeper of His Quality From That Distance."
Forming approximately 27% of Brian Marwood's total co-commentary output, this statement relates to speculative 30-yard shots that fail to test the opposing goalkeeper. As the 'keeper retrieves the ball for the goal-kick, we are shown a replay of the shot and the co-commentator exclusively reveals to us that it "would take something special to beat a keeper of his quality from that distance".

It's hard to know where to start here.

3. Away Goals Count Double.
The Angle... are a fairly intolerant bunch, so anything that confuses or alienates the football ignoramuses is usually fairly acceptable. However, the frequent assertion that "away goals count double" must not pass unchecked. Away goals, especially in Europe, are all-important, precious and even vital, but they do not literally count double. Winning 3-0 away from home in the first leg, for example, does not put your team 6-0 up on aggregate.

4. Forgettable Player Ages.
Co-commentators, to go with all their other faults, appear to have memory problems. Despite young players having their ages measured right down to the unit of days when they make their debut for club or country, and then being labelled with adjectives such as "starlet", "wunderkind" and "precocious talent", their age tends to momentarily escape co-commentators whenever these youngsters have a bad game. A common target for this peculiar amnesia is Wayne Rooney, who, people tend to forget, is still only 21 years of age.

5. "Their goalkeeper doesn't fancy it".
As we all know, Continental goalkeepers invariably elect to punch. During coverage of European games, the co-commentator is primed to pounce upon any hint of a flap by the foreign goalkeeper. Once the flap is identified, the English team will be advised to test him out by pumping balls into the box. The co-commentator will react strangely silently to the goalkeeper comfortably dealing with the ensuing aerial onslaught, because it is not in the co-commentator's remit to backtrack. Heaven forbid.

6. "The crowd are getting impatient, and that can transmit itself to the players."
I am desperate for a professional footballer's view on this. Does the mood of the crowd really transmit itself to the players? Another classic example of an opinion that is floating around the otherwise vacant brain of the co-commentator, who is just itching to use it, no matter how untrue it is. It usually appears when a stray pass is met with an understandable collective sigh of anguish from the home support. Why that should be of any significance is bewildering, but yet it provides the cue for the co-commentator to treat us to his fascinating psychological hypothesis.

The tiredness of a cliche is directly proportional to its predictability. Believe me, this one is right up there with the worst of them.

7. "They could, and perhaps should, be 3-1 up"
This one firstly needs careful explanation before its stupidity becomes clear. Let's say Portsmouth are playing Aston Villa. Villa take an early lead, but Portsmouth pile on the pressure. They miss three gilt-edged chances to equalise.

"Portsmouth could, and perhaps should, be 3-1 up."

No, they couldn't, and perhaps shouldn't. Because, Mr Co-Commentator, if any of those chances had been converted, it would be 1-1, Villa would have kicked off, the ball would thus be in a completely different place, and it's highly unlikely that the other exact same two chances would have happened. Portsmouth might go on to create two more golden chances, but you couldn't possibly know that.

This lack of logical thinking is also applied to individual players, who "could have had a hat-trick today."

So, if you hear any of these seven nonsensical statements on the BBC, Sky or Premiership Plus this weekend, don't hesitate in letting everyone around you know about it. The crusade against such ridiculous accepted wisdom starts here.

Adam.

"Deep in conversation with his assistant there..."

The Bench. Like all things football-related, there are rules that all participants follow, seemingly subconsciously.

Firstly, the bench itself. Of course it's not actually a bench and probably hasn't been so since about 1955. I will concede, however, that it would sound a little ridiculous if Tyldesley said "…and Real Madrid do have options on the Recaro race seats". Not that Red Clive seems to have anything against sounding ridiculous - he just wouldn't say it.

The Recaro seat option is just a natural progression of the trend started by perhaps the greatest of all the football innovative thinkers, Graham Taylor. Yes, some may remember him as the man who played David Batty at right wingback, allowed Carlton Palmer to play for England and took off Gary Lineker against Sweden when all we needed was a goal. This, I think, clouds the great man's greatest achievement - which was to start the long road to lovely Recaro seats by sitting by the side of the pitch on plastic chairs nicked out of the canteen. Hats off to you, Graham.

Although it seems that every man and his dog gets a seat on the bench these days, it really is only open to a select few. The Angle... analyses the characters typically found in the dugout:

The Manager

Recently, managers have chosen to leave the sanctuary of the bench to stand in the technical area. This seems to be very handy for berating the fourth official - an example of a completely worthless protest, as it can't affect the game and is most likely to lead to the manager being "sent to the stands". A strange punishment, given that many modern, forward-thinking managers (like, erm, Steve McClaren and Sam Allardyce) opt to begin the match in the stands anyway. They revert to the more traditional dugout position only in the second half, or when their team goes 2-0 down inside ten minutes, or just when the chairman's wife starts annoying them. Until then, they must communicate via mobile phone with their assistant, foiling Sky's attempts to eavesdrop by putting their hand over their mouths.

Managers will use the technical area for a variety of reasons. Jose Mourinho will use it to slide fully ten yards on his knees, Glenn Roeder will stand, arms crossed, providing a calming influence on his players - which panics them into conceding a late goal. Meanwhile, Stuart Pearce will charge round it like a retarded child, throwing the ball back into play in the vain hope that the bigger boys will take pity on him and invite him to join in. Oh, sorry, we mean "he kicks every ball".

When the use of the technical area has been exhausted, the manager will return to the bench and hopefully whack his head on the roof of the dugout. If his team are winning he will laugh, despite the pain, and the rest of the bench will laugh with him. If they are losing, the bench will pretend they didn't see it and the manager will pretend it doesn't hurt. It does.

The Assistant Manager

I'm sure there are assistant managers (or No. 2s as they are, perhaps unfairly, also known) that are absolutely integral to the coaching set-up within a club. These men, even if they spend season in, season out with successful managers, will eventually pluck up the courage go to a club to manage in their own right - and be out of a job within 6 months. They will then be labelled a No. 2 for the rest of their life, unable to release themselves from the shackles of the failure at the big time. Examples can be seen from Manchester United: Brian Kidd, Carlos Quieroz and, most topically, the balding, plastic toothed, red faced, deluded, incompetent buffoon that is Steve McClaren, have all tried their hand as the figurehead elsewhere. If you are an assistant manager, there is only one way to survive - and that is to become a slightly less concentrated version of the "the gaffer". Of course, not in a pathetic, Phil Neal, let's-just-repeat-everything-Graham-Taylor-says-and-hope-nobody-notices kind of way. No, for perfect examples of this we need to look at two of the masters of the art: Steve Clarke and Pat Rice.

In his playing days Steve Clarke was a committed, but average, defender. Not too controversial a figure, quite an anonymous character, in fact. Compare that with the Steve Clarke who sits on the Chelsea bench, all wagging figures and histrionics, passing himself off as a significantly less charismatic and much more Scottish Jose Mourinho. He knows the value of being a yes man and he's kept his job because of it.

Pat Rice is the ultimate "cone man". He collects the footballs, probably takes down the nets at the end of training and shouts pointless instructions such as "Go to the ball, Go to the ball" and, erm, that's it. He has perfected the art of outwardly replicating Wenger's mood, whether he actually feels the same or not. "Patrice" very nearly let the mask slip against West Ham this year when the cameras caught the sheer panic on his face as he tried to decide whether to shake Alan Pardew's hand after Wenger had refused to do so. Still a little way to go there, Pat.

Sammy Lee at Bolton has taken this one step further by aping every physical movement Sam Allardyce makes and wildly gesticulating to the pitch. Rumours that Lee actually died a number of years ago and that Allardyce is operating him, Weekend-At-Bernie's-style, from the stands, remain unconfirmed.

Substitutes

No matter what the game, or the importance of it, as the camera gazes upon the manager barking out instructions, his assistant trying manfully to convey the same message using only his eyebrows, there will be a group of people nearby who are barely watching the game. I am, of course, talking about those that have either been dropped, rested, are coming back from injury or, as in the case of Sheffield United's army of unused strikers, simply not very good.

At least once during the game, the bench will be in fits of laughter or just generally sodding about like the kids at the back of the school bus. The one exception to this will, of course, be the goalkeeper. It has long been received wisdom that goalkeepers are a bit mad, their case not helped by their insistence on "concentrating" for the whole game, despite there being approximately a 2% chance of actually getting on. As well as doing absolutely everything, including the "concentrating", while wearing their gloves.

At some point, the freezing cold sub will be summoned from the bench. To do so requires the reading through of the Assistant Manager's magic notepad of instructions, which no doubt includes gems such as "Use your fresh legs to run at them" or, more likely, "Get out there, make a nuisance of yourself and try a nick a goal. Then, ensure that you mention this in your post-match interview".

The Physio

The physio, or the "trainer" as people like Jimmy Armfield insists on calling him, cuts a very lonely figure at the end of the bench, looking somewhat like a roadie who has just realised he's not actually regarded as "being in the band". He sits with a concerned look on his face. This may be interpreted as concern for the players. In fact, he's wondering why there is always a spare seat next to him. We'll tell him why - most people feel uncomfortable sitting next to man wearing latex gloves, that's why. The look on his face could also be interpreted as the look of a man primed to sprint into action. No physio has ever been officially timed at full speed, but head injuries often cause them to reach velocities unattainable for the average man.

"Who are ya?! Who are ya?!"

It is stated in the Premier League's rules that one obscure member of the backroom staff has to sit on the bench, so that one spectator will ask: "who's that?". The person who instantly answers with "That's the Assistant Kit Man" or "That's Les Reed" will therefore be deemed to need to get out a bit more and be a little less anoraky.

That person needn't mind. He's one of us.

Coxie.

Pundit Trumps

Inspired by the classic playground game of Top Trumps, The Angle... has devised its own version. Pit the Andy Grays and Alan Hansens of this world against each other in a titanic battle of...

Pundit Trumps

(Yes, it looks a bit ropey, but it should work perfectly...)

Adam.

"There's Activity Down On the Bench...."

There are certain incidents in a match where the co-commentator feels compelled to offer an opinion. One such moment is a substitution. At this point, we are treated to a full rationale of why this replacement is being made. Thankfully, as with many things, the co-commentator can call upon a comfortably wide range of stock reasons:

Like-For-Like
This type of substitution also appears under the guise of the straight swap or the ready-made replacement. Normally used to indicate that the player coming on is uncannily similar in style and position to the one he is replacing, usually because of an injury. A good example of the co-commentator's traditional compulsion to jump in and offer an incisive observation, a like-for-like substitution absolutely never goes unmentioned. Furthermore, the player coming on (although this is usually reserved for unspectacular positions in defence or midfield) will be said to "slot straight in" the same position. Although not necessary, if the players concerned look alike, then the cliche is sealed perfectly.

Example: Claude Makelele (Lassana Diarra, 45)

Fresh Legs
Most apparent when cup-ties go to extra time, the concept of fresh legs can be applied to pretty much any substitute, however pacy they may be. One distinction, perhaps, is that fresh legs are more commonly introduced in the midfield engine room.

A solid, reliable choice for a late substitution.

Example: Tomas Rosicky (Alexandr Hleb, 101)

To Offer A Different Option
Pre-match, a manager may be fortunate enough to be said to have "got options on the bench". In extreme cases, where the options are of very high quality, it may be necessary to provide a rundown of how many of them are "full internationals".

The offer of a different option (or simply "something different") essentially boils down to two things - pace (which is invariably "injected") and height (although the latter's rather rudimentary appearance may be disguised as "aerial ability"). A workhorse wide midfielder may be replaced by a youngster with "bags of pace", while a diminutive forward may be swapped for a beanpole of a target man. Either way, a different option has been offered.

Pacy substitutes may find their career hampered by the unhelpful label of "impact player", which means that they often can't be trusted from the start, but will definitely be called upon to come on and change the game at some point.

Example: Teemu Tainio (Aaron Lennon, 63) - pace
Example: Craig Bellamy (Peter Crouch, 67) - aerial ability

Shore Up the Defence/Midfield
This substitute's general responsibility is to provide extra defensive cover for his team, in order to either sit on a lead, or for the purposes of damage limitation. Often the task for utility players who may find themselves warming the bench on a regular basis.

Example: Ryan Giggs (John O'Shea, 81)

The Time Waster
With their team a goal to the good, managers may wish to use their final substitution in the dying minutes. Wise to the ploy, the player about to be substituted will have conveniently moved himself to the opposite side of the pitch, and will begin to trudge slowly towards the dugout. That is until the crowd's anger rises to the point where he breaks out into a light jog. Even allowing for the unwritten rule that 30 seconds will be added to the period of injury time, this method of timewasting is as effective for the side in the lead as it is frustrating for their opponents. The player entering the fray suffers the very minor indignity of being brought on for reasons completely separate from his footballing abilities.

Example: Andriy Shevchenko (Shaun Wright-Phillips, 90+2)

The Raft of Substitutions
Since the maximum allowable number of substitutes in a competitive game is not sufficent to qualify as a raft, even when done simultaneously, this is the sole reserve of the international friendly. A raft of substitutions is now generally recognised as the symbolic (if not actual) final whistle, and the sensible time to pack up your England flag and tuneless airhorn and vacate Old Trafford.

Example: Steven Gerrard (Joey Barton, 78), Wayne Rooney (Jermain Defoe, 78), Ashley Cole (Phil Neville, 78), Frank Lampard (Jermaine Jenas, 78).

Substitute is Substituted
An unusual occurrence that arises when either circumstances demand it (a keeper is sent off, and one of the used substitutes is seen as the sacrificial lamb) or when the player is so performing so badly that he is hauled off in unceremonious fashion by his manager. A collector's item for the football anorak, who will scan the end of match report to see the glorious indignity that the substituted substitute has received - the double brackets.

Example: Matthew Le Tissier (Ali Dia, 32 (Ken Monkou, 85))

The Standing Ovation
Similar to the Time Waster, in that is "too late to make an impact" for the player coming on, and he isn't expected to anway. For his role is to high-five the player leaving the field to a standing ovation. Standing ovations are given to forwards that have either had an exceptional game (a brace, or a couple of assists, etc.) or expensive signings that have not had a good game in the slightest but whose confidence the fans kindly don't want to beat to a pulp. The former is obliged to leave the pitch performing a difficult above-head-clap/360-degree twist combination.
Bringing a player off to a standing ovation also serves the secondary purpose of saving hat-tricks from being taken for granted. The number of hat-tricks that players have been "denied" thanks to a standing ovation is not recorded, but may run into the hundreds of thousands.

Example: Peter Crouch (Dirk Kuyt, 89)

The Final Throw of the Dice
The third substitution. A goal is required, and the last remaining player on the bench that is anything approaching a forward is brought on, and is heralded as the "final throw of the dice". This players instructions are usually reported post-match as having been "get out there and maybe nick a goal". They often do.

Example: Patrice Evra (Ole Gunnar Solskjaer, 84)

Adam.

"Look Away Now..."

A rare and almost forgotten art is still practised in this country today. I’m not talking about maypole dancing or basket-weaving. I’m talking about the epic undertaking that is avoiding the scores. It may be that you are unable to follow your team’s progress on a Saturday afternoon, due to some sort of sudden and unforeseen incapacitating accident; or that your wife has dragged you off to the shops by pain of death…or that you just want to run a masochistic gauntlet by hiding from all forms of media and physical and verbal contact with any other human being - for seven long hours.

The practice was made famous by the classic 1973 episode of Whatever Happened To The Likely Lads called ‘No Hiding Place’, in which Bob and Terry spend all day trying to avoid learning the score of the Bulgaria v England football match, in order to watch the televised highlights that evening. Despite exhaustive attempts to avoid the result - and a malevolent bloke from the pub intent on making it as difficult as possible for them - they manage it, only to find the game is abandoned due to flooding as they grapple with the possibilities of a snatched glance at a headline beginning with “England F…”. Cult viewing at its finest.

For all those that attempt this task, there is a set of simple rules that will determine whether you succeed and sit down in front of the Match of the Day credits with a smug, excited grin or if you end up swinging for your girlfriend as she chooses that exact day to give a shit about YOUR ‘hobby’ and gleefully tells you that your team has just conceded a fourth at home to Wigan.

Plan.
This is as close as you’re likely to get to the magnitude of planning the perfect murder or a military assault on a small Central American country. You must work out the environment that you must survive in for the next 7+ hours between kick-off and the MotD credits. If you are leaving the house, then expect the unexpected and prepare for:

- Multi-screen displays of Soccer Saturday in the television departments of John Lewis

- Any groups of two or more males above the age of 4, or singles talking into their mobiles

- Women. Often considered harmless, but in the same breath can be your downfall (look for the tell-tale club scarf for most over-enthusiastic female supporters)

If you are staying in, avoid all television and radio channels with any kind of news update or sporting connection. Magic FM and The Fashion Channel are thus highly recommended. With all forms of media blanketed there really is only one possible enemy left: everyone you know.

WARN/IGNORE EVERYONE
There are two ways of handling your friends, family and girlfriend/wife in this situation: warn them and then ignore them. If you choose to text them all, or start every conversation with a speedily-delivered mantra “I’m avoiding the scores, so don’t tell me anything”, then be prepared for the mischievous (or perhaps even plain stupid) mate to haunt you throughout your difficult hours.

TRUST NO-ONE
The most dedicated Score Avoiders will turn their phone off. A phone call or especially a text message during the 90 minutes will cause you to speculate wildly about its meaning, but at the end of the day you know that text is not going to say “I’m so pleased for you that your centre-back has just scored from 30 yards to make it 3-0 for your lot”. Texts = bad news. To make absolutely sure, it is also worthwhile making absolutely no eye-contact with anyone, however harmless you think they might be. Many a time has my girlfriend revealed the exact details of a thumping defeat with a momentary look of concern, after she overheard some bloke on the bus laughing heartily at your team’s misfortune.

STICK TO THE BBC
ITV and Sky generally don’t get it. The BBC became the first true ally in the war against knowing the scores when the sports newsreader first began to utter the famous words “…and for those who don’t want to know the scores, look away now”. Unfortunately, even this unique empathy with the die-hard Score Avoider has been tarnished recently by the need to actually read out the scores – probably to benefit the moaning blind people who can’t watch Match of the Day. Bastards. However the addition of “...and put your hands over your ears” in the newsreaders’ warnings has led to visions of grown men across the country sat on their sofas with their fingers in their ears, eyes clamped shut, singing “LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA” for far longer than necessary. If you’ve made it this far – well done. But you’re not out of the woods yet.

BE PREPARED TO BE DISAPPOINTED
For some unknown reason, certain football highlights programmes have little faith in the abilities of the Score Avoider, or perhaps simply don’t care. Creeping into these shows, particularly on those that are contractually bound to show advert breaks, are often flashed highlights of the day's play – often including, criminally, the goals. Someone has to tell them that the use of an obscure camera angle does not hide the fact that the fans behind the goal are going ballistic. A truly sad attempt to maintain viewer interest by suggesting “Yes! There was at least one goal today! What an exciting programme it will be!”. Then there are the studio presenters and pundits who are desperately trying to hide their emotions and remain as poker-faced as possible, while your eyes flicker across Hansen’s face in the vain hope he’ll reveal something about West Ham's leaky defence.

You find yourself at the unpredictable mercy of the commentator and the programme’s editor. Recently, the commentator on Ford Football Special decided to reveal at the start of highlights of the recent crucial Watford v Wigan relegation battle that “Watford don’t have a keeper on the bench tonight”. Good thing that Ben Foster didn’t get injured then….oh.

Then, there is the dreaded Yellow Card Highlight. Any prolonged footage, complete with graphic confirmation of a player getting booked in a highlighted game - can mean only one thing. It is similar to the beginning of an episode of Casualty. That talismanic defender, crucial to your side’s survival in the top-flight, might as well be climbing his roof to fix his aerial during an electrical storm. He’s in it. And he’s going to get sent off. Don't be fooled by the commentator saying "he's got to be careful now" and is "walking the disciplinary tightrope", because he is absolutely guaranteed to fall off the disciplinary tightrope.

There is, of course, one final spanner in the works that is never likely to be a flooded-out England game. It’s simply your own team. On MotD last. Drawing 0-0. Nothing on this earth can prepare you for this disappointment. The thing is – you know that you caused it.

Ollie (for once...)

"And that concludes the draw..."

The draw for the FA Cup quarter-finals is nigh, and I have 45 minutes in which to attempt a nostalgic (but not blindly nostalgic) review of this pleasant tradition. I hope I finish it in time, as the following list of FA Cup draw cliches is one I'd like you, dear reader, to tick off as the draw progresses:

The Pre-Draw Headlines
Being such a momentous occasion, any draw for the major competitions requires a pointless generic build-up article, which are nowadays usually the domain of Ceefax/Teletext and the internet. Invariably given the headline "Clubs Set For FA Cup Draw", the article will then reveal exclusively how the remaining entrants are "awaiting " (often "eagerly", where any lower-league club is concerned), and is rounded of with a list of the "all-important" ball numbers.

The Presenter
A modest 15-minute slot is dedicated to the formalities of the draw, now presented to the nation in marvellously wooden fashion by Sir Trevor Brooking. Brooking's predecessors have included the adequate but forgettable David Davies and the helium-powered Graham Kelly. A more challenging role than it perhaps looks, the frontman of the proceedings must juggle the following tasks:

• Introduce the star guests who will perform the draw
• Provide snappy and suitably uninteresting information on each team as they are drawn, usually pertaining to the way they progressed from the previous round. ("Number 4 is Plymouth Argyle....2-0 winners over Derby in Round Five.")
• Ensure that all the balls have been emptied from the bag by one of the guests. This is traditionally the first source of cringe-inducingly awkward "comedy" during the draw coverage.
• Engage slightly in mid-draw banter, whilst keeping in mind the need to keep the draw flowing.

The Guests
The logic behind the choice of guests can be a lottery in itself. Sometimes they can be topical invitations (players/managers recently involved in the competition) and sometimes they can be bafflingly inappropriate, like the two overfunded, underachieving "athletes" that performed the 5th round draw. Today's proceedings will feature England management team Steve McClaren and Terry Venables, more of whom to come.
Whoever performs the draw, it is customary to be very careful and precise (showing a level of care and concentration usually only seen when drinking tea from a cup and saucer at your grandma's) and to stand (when not ball-plucking) as all footballer folk do on occasions such as this - hands clasped behind straight back, legs shoulder width apart.

One of the Guests Selects His Old Team
With Middlesbrough and Tottenham in today's draw, the likelihood of this occurring is incredibly high. Another rich source of teeth-grindingly painful "humour" mid-draw, one of the guests is obliged to call upon a wide range of witty responses to choosing his own team. The most popular one, understandably is to smirk and either a) "apologise" for randomly, and not at all deliberately, drawing them to play Chelsea away, or b) produce a shrug that politely says "got them an easy one there!".

In fact, McClaren is likely to be incredibly unbearable in general throughout today's draw. Smug smirks are guaranteed upon the drawing of Middlesbrough and Manchester United's balls, while Venables will get in on the act with Tottenham and, to a lesser extent, Chelsea. Exactly why such a brief, tenuous link with one of your former clubs is such an impressive act of comedy is not clear.

With the draw imminent, I shall leave it there. For something that is supposed to be entirely unpredictable and random, the FA Cup draw has become very easy to forecast...