Cup final day is no longer unmissable, but this one means all in Manchester

Saturday, Wembley Way. The tribes will gather, demarcated by red and blue – though Mancunian fashion by-laws dictate all adult males must wear white ankle socks below thigh-revealing shorts, should temperatures top 15 degrees. It’s likely to be bad-tempered; it always is between these two, but rail strikes and lengthy motorway delays from Congleton downwards are hardly likely to ease the mood.

The sound of a disembodied Clive Tyldesley on a frequent loop, dishing out the Brent Council booze regulations and the size of bag allowed (A4 paper-size, max) may further antagonise. Many are fearing a match where, in terms of Manc pride, winner takes all, and the cost of defeat. Forget this meaning more, this means all. The treble is at stake for both teams, for City in the here-and-now, for United in the there-and-then.

For City, as it was for United 24 years ago, this FA Cup final is a staging post on the way to true, historic glory. It still registers as a shame that the world’s oldest knockout competition has become supplementary to winning Our League and Big Cup. Liverpool fans sob when they recall last season’s failed Quad hunt, despite beating Chelsea on penalties to claim the Cup. Winning the famous pot in 2021 didn’t provide much of a fig leaf once Brand Brendan went off-beam at Leicester.

Many yearn for the days when the FA Cup final stopped a nation and the japes that preceded the action stretched from Saturday breakfast time on TV. For dedicated Shoot readers, it sure beat Ceefax, Noel Edmonds et al for a laugh. Brucey and Tarby joining in the fun, Stan Boardman’s chippy, all-access footage from team coaches, Chas N’Dave, the injured teammate running down the lads’ nicknames and bad clobber, Cup final singles that all