Fulham's players probably don't need much motivation ahead of Big Vase final, but in idle moments (the 23 hours a day between 5.18pm and 4.18pm the following afternoon) the Fiver can't help but wonder what kind of speech their manager will give them before tonight's game. Unless he trips and sends the tray carrying his players' lovingly made half-time brew flying, it's difficult to imagine Roy Hodgson smashing tea cups off the dressing-room wall, so we reckon he'll go for a bespoke variation of Al Pacino's inch-by-inch speech from Any Given Sunday. Except without the swearing. Or the examples of self-loathing. Or the Rs.
Despite what pompom-waving fantasists like Clive Tyldesley or Andy Gray would have you believe, tonight is probably the first time in decades that an English football team goes into a European match backed by the genuine good wishes of almost everyone in the UK with a passing interest in football. "We've all been surprised and overwhelmed really, with all the support we've had," said people's prince and the king of all our hearts, Danny Murphy, dabbing the corner of one eye with a perfumed hanky.
Meanwhile in the the role of panto villains, Atlético Madrid are the side charged with shooting Bambi's mum despite winning just two out of 14 matches in Europe this season. Unfortunately for anyone hoping for mercy, the Spanish side will be packing more artillery than Sgt Eugene Tackleberry in a Police Academy climax: with Diego Forlán partnering Sergio Agüero up front, it's probably fair to say Brede Hangeland and Aaron Hughes will earn their corn. "The most important thing is that we perform well and win – it doesn't matter who scores," said Forlán, whose La Liga heroics have won him enough golden boots to shoe a centipede, albeit one that's had many of its legs amputated in the wake of a serious accident involving an inquisitive toddler.
While there can be no doubt that Atlético have the better players, only a fool would bet the farm on them beating a tireless, hard-working, patronised side that has already accounted for teams such as Roma, Juventus, Shakhtar Donetsk, Wolfsburg and Hamburg in this campaign. "If you were to ask me 'are you taking the game seriously? Do you really want to win? Have you prepared as best as you can to win? Will you be giving your all on the night? Will your players be doing everything in their power to win the game?', then the answer's 'a big, big yes'," said Hodgson yesterday, to an old German lady who had asked him for directions to the toilet.
Tonight at Hamburg's Nordbank Arena, a well-read, softly-spoken man who looks like an owl has a chance of orchestrating the end of Fulham's 131-year wait for a trophy. Inch by inch, play by play until it's over. A certain purveyor of weak, tasteless lager don't do motivational tub-thumping dressing-room spee … oh. But theirs features Steve Davis and some shoe-gazer from Kasabian, so we'll stick with Al Pacino and Uncle Roy.
(reproduced in full because of the boring bit about John Terry's injury that never was)
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